Seduced by the Screenwriter

Chapter 5, Dibs, Part 5

Chapter 5

Dibs

After completing the daily tour of her clients' properties by mid-afternoon, Catrina discovered a stuffed green garbage bag on the porch of her rented semi-detached bungalow. She pulled a folded piece of computer paper from under the bag and opened it.

The note was brief:

Dinner will be at seven. As you will deduce from the costume, the time period is the 1870s. Please arrived dressed, without four-legged escort. Sorry, you can't read the script yet. You will have dialogue, mostly along the lines of "Yes, please". Chett

Smiling, Catrina unlocked the door, shed her parka, and filled Titan's bowls with kibble and fresh water while speculating about the bag's contents.

1870s, so a dance hall girl's saucy outfit? Maybe one of those exquisite low-cut off-the-shoulder gowns the women wore to balls? An image flashed of Chett kissing a bare shoulder in candlelight, then her neck, then her—

Restraining eagerness that curled her toes inside thermal socks, she nuked a cup of hot cocoa to warm chilled fingers and insides. Finally, she sat at the kitchen table, Titan flopped comfortably on the tile floor nearby, and pulled the green bag between her knees.

Catrina plunged a hand into the bag and drew out a floor-length midnight blue woolen skirt with a bustle sewn in, a matching jacket, and a high-necked white blouse with tiny white cloth buttons running down the front and lace at the sleeve cuffs.

Catrina nibbled her bottom lip, a tad disappointed. Hmmm. Not my idea of sexy.

She couldn't recall a role in Jenna's early movies that required the sex siren to cover her assets so completely. Maybe she'd worn it for a bit part. On the other hand, given the risqué movies in which Jenna had starred prior to making it big, she probably disrobed in a love scene. Or better yet, the hero undressed her.

Okay, she conceded. This outfit has seduction possibilities.

From deeper in the bag she retrieved a pair of soft white leather gloves, a round box containing a tiny felt hat with a feather plume and dangling ribbons to tie under the chin, and an uncomfortable-looking ivory corset with satin ribbons that laced up the back.

She held up the corset. "I'll never get this thing on by myself," she muttered to Titan. "I must call in reinforcements."

While waiting for Brigit to arrive, Catrina showered and struggled for half an hour to twist uncooperative hair into an updo. "No wonder they needed maids in those days," she grumbled to Titan. "It probably took hours to get a gentlewoman ready to step out of the bedroom."

Catrina had a glass of red wine poured and waiting when Brigit tapped on the front door after closing her tea shop at six.

"Come in," Catrina called from the bedroom door.

Her friend let herself into the house on a blast of frigid air, her pert nose cherry red and the only part of her face visible through a thick Hudson's Bay striped scarf wrapped around her head. "I had to walk. My car wouldn't start. Again."

She toed off winter boots, slung her parka over the back of an armchair, hung a shoulder bag on a hook out of Titan's reach, and unwound the scarf to expose a riot of blond curls framing her cherubic face. Ignoring the wine glass on a side table, Brigit made a beeline for the clothing Catrina had arranged on the couch.

"Oooh," cooed Brigit, holding up the floor-length, heavy skirt. "How fun. Too bad bustles aren't in fashion today. No one could tell how big my derrière is."