Do not feed after midnig.., p.9
Do Not Feed After Midnight, page 9
I said, “A cross between a local sheriff and a delivery driver?”
She laughed and said, “Well, I was going for Men in Black, but yeah, I guess it was more like that. Thanks for getting in the truck and doing this. I really am having fun.”
I said, “OK, the first stop is here.”
She looked at the front of the store and said, “More T-Shirts? If you say so.”
This was a different store. More beachwear. I took her straight to the back, to where the changing rooms were. There was a tiny intimates section. Soft little undies.
I said, “Start here. You pick them, not me, OK? Find something white. Something soft. Very comfortable. Whatever style you think you’ll like. All of these are pretty. It doesn’t have to be a thong or G-String.”
She looked through what was there, sticking to the ones in white and said, “But it can be?”
I said, “As long as it seems comfortable. That’s the key. Comfort above all right now.”
She held up a nice thing and said, “I kind of like these. They aren’t what I normally wear. But I want them.”
I said, “Perfect. Now, over here. Stick with white, same as the undies. Soft, comfortable, pretty. A camisole or little undershirt tank top. But not tight. Loose and breezy. Not oversized, but not tight. Here, choose from here,” and I indicated a section of the rack with tops on hangers.
Stevie looked at what was there and held up two.
I said, “The shorter one. It’s pretty. They both are. The longer one should be worn without panties in your hotel room as a nightshirt. The shorter one for daytime.”
She asked, “Can I have both of them?”
I said, “Of course. If they make you feel pretty.”
She said, “That’s what we’re doing? Making me feel pretty?”
I said, “What else would we be doing?”
She said, “What about a bra?”
I said, “I don’t think so. Not yet. Do you know why?”
She said, “Because the camisole makes me look and feel pretty, and a bra does not?”
I said, “Does a bra make you feel pretty? Stevie, feeling pretty right now means that you feel pampered, protected, and precious.”
She said sadly, “A bra makes me feel insecure, alone, and in danger.”
I said, “I’m so sorry. I want you to know how pretty you are.”
She said, “You want me to feel precious?”
I said, “More than anything.”
Stevie said, “Jake, I love you. I have to. It’s OK, don’t worry about what it means about Miranda. I have something in the truck for you when we get back. Um, I know I look sad right now, but that’s not it.”
I said, “You look like you are feeling right now. Feeling emotions and your body. Feel as much as you can.”
She said, “I am. It feels amazing. But strange. Don’t worry, OK. Can you trust me?”
I said, “I think I can. We’re on a date, that’s all. Miranda knows we’re together. She wants us to like each other. There are a lot of emotions right now because we are getting to know each other–and ourselves, for that matter. I won’t worry about it for now. Next, we need two things over here. Come on.” I led her to a set of shelves along the wall but didn’t find what I wanted. I looked around the store a little more but still didn’t see what we needed next.
I said, “Well, the rest of it isn’t here. We’ll have to try somewhere else. We’ll buy what we have.”
Stevie said, “What about for Miranda?”
I said, “Oh yeah. OK, would it be OK with you if we get her exactly what you picked out for yourself? In either white or pale yellow?”
Stevie said, “I’d love that. So will she.”
Stevie went back to the intimates section and chose not just one more set, but two, one in white and one in yellow. I told her that was all we needed for now, and she paid for it at the register.
Before we left, she leaned against me and whispered, “Do you want me to change into what we bought?”
I said, “Not yet. Let’s look for the rest first.”
She looped her arm through mine and said, “OK. I still like what I have on.” She held me closer than she had all morning as we left the store.
From there, we headed across the street. The next stop was a place that had imported merchandise from places like Peru and parts of Africa. Most of it was wood carvings and handmade toys, and knitted hats and scarves. But taking Stevie to the far back corner, there was a women’s clothing section with “Hippie Clothes.” That’s how I thought of them. She didn’t question me at all. Choosing a long green hemp dress, I held it up to her for size.
I said, “This one.”
Stevie smiled and said, “If you say so.”
I said, “Do you mind trying it on? With the camisole?”
Handing me her jacket, she took the dress happily and the bag with the new undies and went into the tiny changing closet. Most of the stores here didn’t have full changing rooms with doors. Just a tiny closet with a curtain across the front. It was barely big enough for her to move around in.
I heard her whisper, “Jake, are you out there?”
I said, “Right here. No one is around. Is everything OK?”
There was no one in the store except the two of us and the salesgirl.
She said, “Yeah, it’s all good. This camisole is really nice. It’s really soft. I like it a lot. Oh, there’s a tie to cinch the back of the dress a little. That’s nice, too. Hang on, I’m almost done. You want to see it, right?”
I said, “Yeah, I do. I want to make sure it’s right.”
A minute later, Stevie opened the curtain. The dress looked great. In my mind, anyway.
She said, “Well?”
I said, “I think it’s perfect.”
She said, “Is there a mirror?”
I said, “In a minute. First, how does it feel? Be aware that the fabric will get softer the more it gets washed, so it will feel better over time.”
She said, “It feels pretty good, already. Um, and Jake. I feel funny.”
I asked, “Funny how?”
She said, “Can I see it first?”
I stood aside and waved her toward a floor-length mirror between the two changing stalls.
Looking at herself and swishing to see how the dress moved, she said, “I kind of like it.”
I said, “Kind of?”
She said, “Kind of in a way I can’t describe. I feel weirdly pretty. I don’t know if I’ve ever felt like this in anything I’ve ever worn before. It’s so... loose. And comfortable. Jake, I’m going to cry.”
I said, “Why?”
She said, “Because, like we were talking about, I feel pretty. What did you call it? Precious and...”
I said, “Protected, precious, and pampered.”
She said, “I’ve never felt so much like that ever as I do in this dress. And I know that every time I put it on, I’ll always feel the same.”
I said, “I hope so, but I have to show you something first. Here, step over here. In front of the windows. Face me. I need a picture.”
Stevie stood as I asked, and I took a quick photo.
The girl at the register said, “It’s a fairly loose weave.”
Stevie looked confused, and I dragged her back to the changing area. I pulled up the photo and held it out for Stevie to look at. She took the phone from me and looked at herself.
She said, “It looks nice. I would have never thought about buying this for myself. It makes me look so different.”
I said, “You look beautiful, but look closer.”
Stevie stared at the photo and finally said, “Oh! Um, but that’s OK, isn’t it? The light shows through, and my legs kind of show, but you can’t really see anything. You can’t even tell that I’m not wearing underwear, right? I like it so much. Do you think it’s not good? I could wear a slip, I guess.”
I said, “Do you want to? Will you feel prettier with or without a slip? If you ask me, you don’t need one and...”
She suddenly threw her arms around me and exclaimed, “Oh, thank you! No one but you will know, right? Oh, Jake, I feel so pretty. I never knew I could feel like this. I swear, I’m, going to cry. I really am.”
I said, “Sweetie, I’m glad it speaks to you. You are beautiful and precious. Do we get one for Miranda?”
Stevie said, “Does it have to be the same? Can it be a little different?”
I said, “I’m not even sure we get one of these for her. No, this is for you. We’ll find something else for her. In fact, we probably won’t buy her anything else today. We’ll take her shopping later.”
Stevie was crying just a bit now and said, “I don’t want to change.”
I said, “We have to take the tags off.”
Stevie marched to the register and announced, “I want to wear this out. Can you get the tags off for me?”
The girl grabbed some scissors and had Stevie pull her hair away from her neck so that the girl could find the tag. Snipping it off, Stevie paid for the dress with a card and hurried me out of the shop.
Clinging to my arm again, she said, “I know I told you that I have to pay for everything, but...”
I said, “No, I am buying that for you. From me. You can buy anything you want to, but if you’ll let me, I’m buying that.”
She leaned against my shoulder and sighed. It meant a lot to her. There was a lot of emotional content in this dress for her. It wasn’t expensive, it wasn’t... well, it was elegant in a way that she wasn’t used to. Like from a planet that Stevie had never visited. And she was going native and learning to dress more plainly and elegantly than they dressed on the planet she was from.
She whispered, “But you know.”
I said, “I know what?”
She said, “You know that all I have on underneath is a pretty camisole and no bikinis. And I want you to know. If you didn’t know, I don’t know what I’d do. It wouldn’t be right. I need you to know.”
I said, “I like knowing that. Do you feel...”
She said, “Pretty? I feel precious. Precious to you. I wish it were warmer.”
I said, “We are going to have to talk, aren’t we?”
Chapter 9 Grey and White
Stevie wasn’t paying attention as I took us to the candy shop. It was fun to look around, but she didn’t want anything. I insisted that we buy just a little homemade fudge for later.
I said, “It’s getting close to lunchtime. Do you want to get something?”
We really did need to talk. Stevie knew it too.
She said, “Is there somewhere really private we can go and sit? Not a restaurant or coffee shop? Somewhere really private?”
I said, “We could walk on the beach. It’s getting a little warmer. The drizzle has stopped.”
She said, “No, it’s still a little windy. We could go park somewhere, but it has to be private. Sitting outside would be better. I’m not hungry yet.”
I said, “Stevie, are you worried about this?”
She said, “Yeah, but not for the reason you think. Is there a place?”
I thought for a minute and said, “Not really. Not that’s warm, dry, and private.”
She said, “That’s OK. It might be easiest if I’m driving. It might be easier to talk if I’m driving.”
We reached the parking lot, and Stevie sighed heavily and reached into her bags in the back. Pulling out a large envelope, she handed it to me and said, “Hold this.”
Getting in the truck, I had Stevie head south on the main street through the middle of town. We would go south on the highway when we got there. We didn’t talk until we were going fast and straight through the wooded area along the coast.
I said, “Stevie, what’s wrong? It’s about what we’ve been doing, isn’t it?”
She said, “Jake, yes–and no! And yes. Open the envelope. There’s another file folder. Read the page on top first. No, wait! Crap, I keep forgetting to make the phone calls. Hang on.”
Once again, Stevie pressed a speed-dial on the console, and when the phone connected, she said, “Mission Control, this is Streetcar.”
A voice answered for the first time, saying, “Understood, Streetcar. Do you need backup?”
Stevie said, “Savage has the second dossier.”
The voice, a fake, deep voice, said, “Are we plus two, Streetcar?”
Stevie said, “Plus two requested. Confirm?”
The voice said, “Understood, Streetcar. No brakes. No contact for 24 hours unless we have mission failure. Out,” and the line went dead.
I said, “Stevie?”
She said simply, “Open the envelope. One page at a time. I’ll keep driving. It will help if you do two things for me.”
I said, “Whatever you want.”
She said, “First, let me know what you are thinking as you read, and second, remember that I’m not wearing undies.”
I said, “OK. Um, now?”
She nodded and said, “Now. Open it.”
Sitting in the passenger seat, I opened the clasp on the large envelope and pulled out a file folder. Inside, I found a handwritten note.
It said, “Mr. Savage, Stella Dubois is not who she appears to be. She is, in fact, much more. Dubois is not her real name. I don’t know what she has told you about me, so I can’t confirm or deny anything. What I can tell you is that she is my arch-nemesis. We have both come to the conclusion that neither of us will ever truly best the other and, in certain matters, find it better to cooperate than compete. You might say that we can’t exist without each other, yin and yang. Light and shadow.”
I paused and said, “Stevie, what’s your real name?”
She said, “Stella Grey.”
I went back to reading: “I believe that unless we, the three of us, work together from now on, none of us may survive what’s ahead. For this reason, I’m asking you to turn Stella and get her to join our side. Get her to trust you. Woo her, seduce her, buy her nice things, whatever it takes. But we need her on our side at all costs. And she has to be turned completely. It’s essential that you establish an unbreakable relationship with her. It should go without saying that includes a sexual relationship. Our lives depend on it. I’ve included the most recent photo we have on the next page. Savage, please! Do what has to be done for all our sake. Our very lives depend on it!”
It was signed, “Miss White.”
Turning the page, I found a photo of Stevie. It was a lot like the one of Miranda from early this morning. A nude photo of Stevie standing with her hands on her hips, her feet about shoulder-width apart, wearing nothing but her mirrored sunglasses.
I wasn’t sure I should be looking at this. There was nothing else in the folder. Just a letter from Miranda begging me to... what? Seduce Stevie? And the photo of Stevie absolutely naked.
I closed the folder. I put it back in the envelope. I stared out the front window. I didn’t know what else to do. Or to think.
Stevie finally said, “So, Jake, can we drop the game for a little bit? And just be ourselves again?”
I said, “Sure! Yeah, let’s do that! Hey, want to stop for Ice Cream?” I had no idea what to say. I blurted out ice cream in desperation.
She said, “No, not right now. What I want is to tell you about myself.”
I said, “OK. Listen, I’m not totally freaked out. Do you know what was in the folder?”
She said, “Yes. I posed for the photo, after all. And ever since I started wearing your clothes, I’ve been longing to let you see it. But I want to just tell you my story.”
I said, “OK. Stevie, I really like you. We could say we both know we love each other. I am going to marry Miranda. At least I thought I was, and if she still wants to, I will. But this morning has been amazing.”
Stevie said, “I know. So, let me tell you my story, OK?”
I said, “I hope it has a happy ending.”
She said, “So do I. OK, here goes. Miranda and I have known each other since high school. We’ve been best friends since we were freshmen. We weren’t very interested in boys all through school. We got scholarships and went to the same college. Our second year, I had a boyfriend. I set Miranda up with a friend of his. And we dated these guys for a few months. I started having sex. Miranda didn’t. The sex wasn’t great, but it wasn’t that bad. But not that great. And I knew we didn’t have a future, mostly for that reason. When I dumped him, Buzzy’s boyfriend dumped her. Miranda started going out with another guy at the start of the next year. I didn’t. I went on some dates but never committed to anyone. And never had sex with any of them. Miranda and the guy broke up by Christmas. Our fourth year, we didn’t date at all. But we had this friend we hung out with a lot. We both liked him, and the three of us were always together. The three of us were best friends. We even slept over a few times. We went camping once and once we went to a concert and stayed in the same hotel room. We shared a king-size bed. And as long as nothing happened between us, Miranda and I were happy. But, as you might have predicted, before the year was over, the guy figured out that he was gay and started dating, and we drifted apart.”
She paused for a minute and then continued, “But Miranda and I were really happy that way. Not being celibate or whatever, but having a guy for a best friend. We talked about how great it was, and what if we had a guy like that and he wasn’t gay? We were never jealous of each other, so what would happen if we dated the same guy? Well, we had dated the same guy, and it was great, but what if we fell in love with the same guy? What would that be like? We both thought it would be totally cool if the guy was the right kind of guy and could love both of us, and we were all best friends like we were with Kyle. His name was Kyle. That was years ago, and I think we had forgotten about it until Miranda met you. She came home really excited that first day and was telling us, we have another roommate, all about you. The next day, she was telling me about your talks, and I teased her about how we had a pact, and she had to share you. We laughed, but last night, she came to my room and said, OK, she would. If I could make it happen, she’d be OK with it. With it being you specifically, not just in general. So we made up this game to play with you. But I didn’t think it would happen. Neither of us did. I was going to come get to know you, flirt a little bit, check you out, and try to become friends so that it would be easy for us to spend time together with you, me, and Miranda. Just good friends. I think I’m going to throw up. Hang on!”
