Spinning

Chapter 42: Blonde Vampires and Twisted Trees

"Wait, let me guess — the bathroom?"
"Hm?"
"No? The cockpit? That would be fitting."
"Huh?"
"Oh, maybe the luggage hold? Very badass. That's a Jack Bauer move."
"What —."
"No? Seriously? Wait, not the area where the waitresses make the drinks — that would be mean."
"Chris, what the hell are you talking about?"
"Oh sorry, just trying to figure out where you guys were caught having sex that explains your delayed arrival."
Susan punches Chris in the arm, while I swing my carry on duffle at his chest. Eddie just grows red. Why?
We are in the suite — "junior suite" as Chris kept reminding me, but a big freaking room nonetheless — with Eddie and myself in the living area and Chris and Susan in the bedroom. Chris showed us the pull out bed, but I made a mental note of at least asking for a cot from the concierge.
"Chris, uh, don't you want to show Eddie that cool guitar museum?"
"Right, yeah, Eddie doesn't that sound cool?"
"Yeah, sure does. Let's go."
The boys walk right out of the room. No goodbyes, no "let me grab my wallet", no "sure but let me go to the bathroom", no nothing. Susan looks happy about something. What is going on people?!
"Oh thank god. Chris ate an entire apple pie this morning. He's been all hyper and gassy today." Whoa. TMI, if there was ever a time to use that expression. "So, uh, lets do some girly stuff? While the boys are busy?"
Girly stuff? Urg. Like what? That's not really my ideal afternoon. Can't we go to an underground herbal store instead?
"What did you have in mind?"
"Well, there's this designer friend I have, and he made a dress for, well I can't tell you because of uh, patient-client confidentiality, but yeah, he wants us to tell him what we think of it!"
Hmm. Okay, that doesn't sound too bad, as long as it's quick.
"Okay. But only if we can get rooftop beers somewhere after."
"Deal!"

****

"Oui, Oui, exactly Susanna. Ze bodice sits at ze narrowest part of ze waist, letting ze contrast stitching sing ze harmony of ze taffeta."
"Hmm and I love the color, like a red wine blend. What do you think, Jordan?" Susan holds the dress up to her figure. It really does flatter her.
"I'd say the color is more blood red, but it goes well with your skin tone. So who is the dress for again?"
"Ah, well for ma cherie—," but Olivier's purring voice is interrupted.
"Just a client of mine. No one you know. She's going to pick it up later tonight." Susan gives Olivier a meaningful look, as if not to spoil the client's name. He nods, and the two continue to talk pricing logistics. I wander further into the small seamstress shop, admiring the different items and fabrics. I pause at a beautiful black lace dress. It's completely see-through, except for ornate lace patches covering the nipples. If Eddie saw me in this—.
"Zat is one of our newest dresses. Ze lace was imported from ze coast of China. Notice how ze movement of each pattern flows inward? It creates an hourglass allusion. And ze slight shimmer... simply magnifique. Do you like it?"
Olivier snuck up behind me, quietly. I look over at Susan. She's filling out some form, leaving me with her French designer.
"Yes," I respond, looking back at the dress, and now understanding the flow of the lace, "it's beautiful."
"It is beautiful. But is it your style, mademoiselle?"
My style... hmmm, perhaps in my dream world. I would be a temptress of the night, with long eyelashes and a gaze that would crush the hearts of men. But no, it's not my style. Perhaps a year ago, when my soul was darker and my thoughts naughtier. But now, my soul feels tired, like I'm beginning to understand the flaws of the world. What an odd sensation from a dress...
"No, it's not my style. I like the cut, but the lace is too... overwhelming, complex. Maybe something sturdier and supportive. Less for the mind to process. But it is lovely."
Olivier studies the dress, and then studies me.
"Mais oui, mademoiselle, you have a keen eye. Perhaps you would like to try it on? What size are you? 2? 4?"
I really can't help myself. I burst into laughter.
"My good Olivier, I haven't been a 4 since 7th grade. I'm maybe a 6. But I-," I'm thankfully rescued from the potential fashion show by Susan.
"Oh my, what a beautiful dress! Do you like it Jordan?" Why is everyone all of the sudden interested in my fashion tastes?
"I do, but it's not for me."
"Oh, okay. Well, we had better be off! I need to make some calls before 5pm hits."
"Merci beaucoup ma cherie. Everything will be ready by lunch tomorrow," Olivier says with a wink.
"A demain!" I say in a near perfect accent. You don't grow up near the Canadian border without picking up a bit of French. Olivier winks again at me. Not a bad trip, I suppose.