A Walk Down Ivy Laine

Saturday, October 4, 2014

Saturday, October 4, 2014

After Midnight

The lights in Tiffany's walk-in closet click on like a spotlight of brilliance. It's like walking into a dream, if you like living in a shopping mall. Her closet is big, no, monstrous. In the middle of the closet sits a white leather ottoman beneath a large sparkling chandelier hung with twinkling pink crystals. To the left is a sort of artist studio, set with lights around a large rectangle mirror. Various metallic jewelry boxes, make-up brushes, bottles and perfumes decorate mirror-topped vanity table. On either side of the vanity are large shelves stacked to the ceiling with high-heels in all colors and styles.

Opposite the wall of heels, are separate dark-lacquered wood cubes stacked full of perfectly folded jeans, shirts and various articles of clothing that don't apparently belong on hangers or in dressers where I probably would shove them. On either sides of the cubes are large door-less cabinets constructed with golden glass. Dresses, suit pants, blouses, skirts, jump suits, you name it, all hang perfectly neat on wooden hangers; illuminated by a soft pink glow from spotlights above.

I follow Tiffany over the cream shag carpet and sit on the ottoman. There's been several occasions over the last few months where I've been inside the new closet, but sometimes it's still overwhelming to realize just how wealthy Tiffany's family actually is. Tiffy has everything she could ever want. Her parents make sure of it. Somewhat of a sad thought. Truth is nothing like this would make me happy, but envy is one of the Seven Deadly for a reason.

"Okay, so here's what I'm thinking. Black thigh-length pencil skirt, blue blouse, a thick gold statement piece, matching bracelet and some pumps," she announces, already pulling stuff off hangers.

"Tiffany. I don't even know what half of that means."

She wink at me, "Just trust me, okay?"

"Okay," I shrug.

"So let's start with this." Tiffany fishes out the skirt. It looks ridiculously short. She notices the look on my face.

"Trust. T.R.U.S.T. Remember?"

"Okay, okay. You do your thing and teach me your ways, master."

Tiffany rolls her eyes, pulling out a white sheer-like blouse.

"K, now, everything off."

I make a face. The bikini is already unnecessarily scant to begin with.

"I have new pairs of underwear you can have. They're from Victoria's Secret." Tiffany says in a naughty voice, wiggling her eyebrows, "mom thinks I like boy-shorts, but little does she know I'm a thong-type of girl."

"Ugh," I groan, pulling my towel off, "turn around so I can save some of my decency and also I'm not using your underwear. That's just weird."

"I don't know why you're shy around me and F.Y.I, they're new, with tags and all. When I'm a big designer, models are going to be naked in front of me. Besides you didn't have a problem at the gym locker room."

"I'm not a model and this isn't school."

"You could be," Tiffany mutters, turning around with folded arms.

In a flash I'm someone else, dressed in a new outfit that fits but doesn't suit me at all. Luckily Tiffany and I share shoe sizes, seven and a half, so the pumps fit perfectly. Granted, never in my life have I worn heels before. Unsteadily the full-length mirror reveals this weird looking new woman.

"Hmm, something isn't right up above," Tiffany says, eyes narrowed at my small chest.

I look down at the over-sized necklace and hope that's her train of thought.