The aggravation started on the weekend with the news that the announcement had been moved up to Monday morning forcing Kimberly to begin her drive early Monday morning. But she would still miss Tuesday in Houston.
Her frustration only increased when she arrived in Austin to find that a ‘legal issue’ had delayed the announcement until late afternoon. Only essential personnel allowed in the building. She decided to go shopping instead.
After some discussion with the HQ receptionist, she found a store called Blackmail which styled itself as a ‘monochromatic boutique’. The clothes were black but not necessarily goth. This suited Kimberly as having fled one set of conventions she was in no hurry to adopt another just because they were different.
A few doors down she found a shoe shop, which demanded a visit and a few doors down rested her newly shod feet at a Starbucks. The barista spotted the logo on Kimberly’s shopping bags and they got into a girly discussion about clothes shops.
“It may not be your style but you should visit Mortified,” the barista advised.
“Price-ey”, the cashier interjected, “but so nice.”
“Not any more”, her partner replied, “closing down sale.”
Kimberly was not about to adopt a new lifestyle as a result of peer pressure, but a fire sale was another matter. If the clothes were not too outrageous she might even wear some to work.
The store was somewhat difficult to find. It was no wonder it had difficulty finding business. The concept was good but the timing was unfortunate. A few years later and there would be no shortage of customers for haute goth in Austin. But in the early 1990s the goth clientele was still mostly younger people with smaller pocketbooks. Kimberly half wondered if she should tell Beverly about a potential new source of bankrupt stock to buy up.
Kimberly was the only customer and the shop manager was only too glad to help her plan her new look. Skirts and blouses piled up on the counter. There was silk and Jacquard lace and velvets. Most of the clothes were black with a scattering of white and a few deep reds, blues and purples. They had an almost exact replica of the hobble skirt dress Carolyn Jones wore in the Adams Family but even with 50% off, the price was beyond what Kimberly was willing to pay for clothes. Next to the pile of clothes grew a slightly smaller pile of accessories; gloves, chokers, fishnet stockings and all manner of fun and exciting frivolities.
Her next task was much more difficult: Culling the pile to arrive at a selection she could afford. With great reluctance she reduced them to a level that she hoped to be compatible with her remaining card limit.
As she walked back to the car with her packages, Kimberly spotted a spa. A neon green poster in the window offered WAXING in 12 inch high letters. A price list beneath detailed the full list of services in somewhat smaller type; eyebrows, legs, bikini. The prices were reasonable, the full bikini package was less than what she had paid for just her legs last year. That had been unpleasant enough.
Brackets following the Bikini price offering a ‘Brazillian’ [sic] for an additional $20 caught Kimberly’s eye. Kimberly tutted at the spelling and walked on. She was late enough for the big announcement as it was.
Kimberly drove back to HQ at breakneck speed only to find that there had been yet another delay. HQ itself was still in lock down. The rest of the center managers had been at the sports bar all afternoon. She could wait for a call at the sports bar or the hotel. She chose the hotel, it would be slightly less aggravating.
Back in her room Kimberly wondered if she should call Megan. But they had been told not to call their employees either. Which was ridiculous since it was by far the best way to convince Megan something was up.
She thought about going to the hotel pool. She even had a new bathing suit, a last minute impulse purchase as she was leaving Mortified.
It was her first bikini since getting married. Though to call it a bikini was something of an exaggeration. It was really not much more than a few scraps of fabric attached to a thin piece of string.
The bottom half was not much more than a thong that practically disappeared in the midst of her ragged pubic hair: Perhaps she should have gone for that Bikini wax after all. She had forgotten to bring a razor and did not feel like paying five dollars to buy a disposable worth less than a nickel from the hotel shop.
She had brought her old costume but the mere thought of it made her feel like a frump. Screw the pool, time to call some girl friends instead.
She tried Alice first but got no reply. Heather didn’t answer either but Helen did. Kimberly eagerly recounted the details of her shopping trip.
“Mortified, closing?”
“Yes.”
“Aw. I liked their stuff.”
“Well get it quick girl, its all half price.”
“Can’t: The car is in the shop. It threw a tweedle-rod or something.”
Helen described her latest car woes with intentional imprecision for some time.
“Stop, stop, I may be going back.”
“Danger! Danger! Plastic reaching critical temperature! Melt down imminent. Stop her before she shops again.”
“The spa across the street actually, they have a bikini wax special.”
“Oh can I be the first to run my tongue across the edge of your labia after all of your pussy hair has been ripped out with molten wax?”
“Gee thanks Helen, you make it sound so appealing.”
“You’re welcome.”
“All of it?”
“All of it.”
“Why?”
“Just do it and you will know.”
“Is it painful?”
“Of course. It hurts like hell,” Helen said cheerfully.
“But you want me to do it.”
“As soon as possible.”
“Ohh-kayee”
A little while later, Heather returned the call Kimberly had made earlier. They chatted about the shopping trip and more items were requested from Mortified. Finally Kimberly explained Helen’s demand.
“Lets see, if you get a Brazilian, Helen goes down on you.”
“Its called a Brazilian?”
“Yes. I guess, sixty bucks is not a bad deal.”
“Well to be more precise Helen wants me to get a Brazilian and then save myself for her.”
“She’s bluffing, she would be happy to lick you out either way.”
“So I shouldn’t get the Brazilian?”
“Do it.”
“Will it hurt?”
“Of course. It hurts like hell.”
* * * * *
Kimberly called HQ to discover that the announcement had been put off yet again. The men were to be found in a Gentleman’s club called the Greasy Pole. For a brief moment Kimberly wondered if she might enjoy watching naked women dance provocatively for her. The men need not be an obstacle: There were plenty of other strip clubs in town. Some even had names that could be considered sexy or erotic.
“I think I’ll give that a miss.”
“Keep the money and spend it on shoes.” The admin offered.
“The money?”
“You think the guys are paying for theirs?”
Now why was that not surprising?
What did surprise was that the admin offered to process Kimberley’s receipt from Blackmail. She would be reimbursed tomorrow morning, in cash. Expenses would usually take months to process and were rarely paid in full. Just what was going on?
Waxed or not, the bikini was not suitable dinner wear. Kimberly perused her unusually full hotel closet for a suitable outfit.
* * * * *
Downstairs in the lobby, there was a queue for the concierge. Kimberly gave a sigh.
“Figures,” she said under her breath.
“Hard day?” the man in front of her asked. He was wearing a tailored business suit and wedding band.
“Frustrating.”
“Right now, I want to think about anything that isn’t work.”
“Right now, I am thinking the same.”
“Hard day?”
“Frustrating.” he shot back with a smile.
Even though looking for company was the furthest thing from Kimberly’s mind, the habits of three months of bar hopping and casual sex had become second nature. A short while later they were sitting together at a restaurant.
His name was Adam and he was visiting from San Francisco.
“You are like the third person I have met from San Francisco recently.”
“Really? I thought this was open season on West coast liberals like me.”
“Relax, this is Austin, you are safe.”
They chatted for a while. Adam had moved to San Francisco after finding Iowa too conservative for his taste. Kimberly pumped him for details.
“Why are you so interested in San Francisco?”
“Because that is where I am going after my divorce.”
“Got a job to go to?”
“Not yet.”
“OK, give me a minute.”
Adam pulled out his mobile and dialed a number.
“Hi honey, you got a minute?” Even though Adam leaned closer to Kimberly, she could only hear one side of the conversation.
“Just having dinner with a friend.”
“Female.”
“No.”
“Can I talk a minute?”
“Could you just.”
“OK”
Adam handed Kimberly the phone.
“Hi, I’m Chloe.” A friendly voice answered.
“Kimberly.”
“Could you do me a favor?”
“Sure.”
“When I say, just look at him and look shocked.”
“OK.”
“OK then, go.”
Kimberly did her best. Adam buried his face in his hands with embarrassment.
“Isn’t that cute?”
Adam took the phone back and attempted to regain some dignity.
“As I was about to say dearest, Kimberly here is looking for a job in San Francisco. Since you are a professional recruiter, I thought you might appreciate the referral.”
Kimberly picked the device up of the table from where Adam had thrown it in disgust but she was laughing too hard to speak.
“That was good.”
“I’m sorry hun but I thought he was calling to ask permission for you to sleep with him. I hope you aren’t offended.”
“No. No.”
“He has my card, if you are really interested in a job call me and we can talk. If not, feel free to do whatever you want with him.”
“Seriously?”
“Yes, seriously. He gives great oral”
“I might just take you up on that.”
“Do it then.”
After meeting the girls, Kimberly had decided to give up sleeping with married men. She was certain that Frank had forfeited his claim on her fidelity; she could not say the same for the other men’s wives.
This was different, and unexpected. Chloe had not merely given permission, she had encouraged them. Kimberly decided to
“Look, I am really not offended.”
“Really?
“Well not unless you weren’t going to make good on her offer.”
“I would not want to disappoint her.”
* * * * *
Kimberley’s objective in her previous encounters with men had been to get him into bed as quickly as possible, fuck and leave. Those she thought might have wanted more, she avoided.
This time they lingered in the restaurant even after it was decided they would sleep together. They even stopped off at an ice cream shop on the way back.
“Have you ever tried it with this?”, Adam held up his ice cream cone.
“No, I can’t say I have.”
“Chloe saw it in a film once and thought it was hot.”
“Was it?”
“Not really, it was more of a sticky mess.”
“That’s funny.”
“It was one of those, try anything once things.”
“Your cute, you know.”
“Why?”
“The way you talk about sex as if it is not a big deal.”
“But it is a big deal, just not in the way we are told we are to think about it.”
They continued to talk sex as they walked back to the hotel. It was the first time Kimberly had had a real grown up conversation about sex with a partner. In high school, Frank had been only too willing to talk about sex but had had nothing to say. Later, the topic had been closed.
As they entered the lift, Adam asked, “Your place or mine?”
“Yours,” Kimberly answered.
A woman in her 60s with a face like a trout looked at them with disapproval from the corner of the lift.
“O.K.,” Adam hit the button for the top floor.
“Ah the Penthouse suites.”
“Privilege of rank,” Adam said with a smile.
As the lift began to climb, a thought suddenly occurred to Kimberly. She reached out and pressed the button for her own floor.
“Anything wrong?” Adam asked.
As the mirror-finish lift doors opened in front of them, Kimberly caught a glimpse of trout-face smiling behind her.
“I just want us to fuck in my room, that’s all.” Kimberly made sure the trout could hear without raising her voice so that it was obvious she was doing so.
Trout-face stiffend and her lips returned to their customary pouting-position.
“That was naughty.” Adam chided her when she was gone.