Chapter 22
Lesson: None, obviously
Bridget Jones Tally:
nipples—2
When we got back from our whistle-stop tour of London—the British Library, Poets’ Corner at Westminster Abbey, lunch at Fitzroy
Tavern, followed by the Sherlock Holmes Museum on Baker Street—I was exhausted. I’d have loved nothing more than a predinner
disco nap, but I knew there was no hiding from the task ahead. I would have to stare that poop in the face and take it down.
“I’ve got a little announcement.” Helena’s lovely face was alive with mischief. “I’ve spoken with an old friend of mine who
has a new up-and-coming restaurant here in London, and if Robbie doesn’t mind a last-minute amendment to our itinerary, then
I’d like to invite you all to dinner tonight at Agate.”
Some of the ladies gasped, and others clapped.
“Wow, Agate,” Robbie said. “That would be amazing, Helena.”
“Capital. Reservation’s at eight, so put on your glad rags and meet in the lobby at seven-thirty sharp!” she said with a little giddy squeeze of her shoulders.
For a very brief moment, I had almost forgotten about my lost wardrobe. So many fallen friends lost in the Battle of the Bulging
Bowels. My singular remaining outfit, the hobo muumuu I was wearing, was not glad . It was just rags . It had come from Target and was fit only for scooping out a litter box or for convincing persistent men you’re not attracted
to them. I had only brought it because it didn’t wrinkle. I had paired it with leggings and sneakers, and to add insult to
injury, I had caught my leggings on the corner of a table and ripped a little hole in the back. Perhaps they could set up
a small table for one in the ladies’ restroom to keep me from unsettling the other customers.
Robbie collected me solemnly and brought me to the back garden, where my bag sat waiting in the middle of a plastic tarp.
He handed me some rubber gloves and put his on like a doctor on a kids’ show, snapping them dramatically at the wrist.
I hiccupped a little laugh at that, and tried to be strong. “It’s go time, fuckers.”
“Yeah! Wait, who are the fuckers in this scenario?”
“Umm, I don’t know. I just wanted to sound tough. The dirty clothes?”
“Aye, alright. I can get onboard with that.”
We knelt down and started taking out the items one by one. The process was tragic, but I tried my best to be cold and impartial.
Sweaters? Poop sponges. Too many nooks and crannies for the poop to hide. Trash.
Jeans and blouses? Too close to the skin. Too easy to stain. Trash.
Pajamas? I’d rather be thrashed unconscious by Michael Bolton’s hair. Trash.
White bodycon dress, now with brown “water” spots and blue chemical stains? Trash.
Toothbrush? No comment.
Contact lenses and case? A petri dish of pink eye just waiting to happen. Trash!
Oh God. I forgot about the lingerie.
The process of pulling out my toilet-dump-valve-sullied underwear in front of Robbie was mortifying. I had packed a broad
range of panties, from French call girl to oversized faded period undies that looked as if they were family heirlooms.
He lifted up a pink G-string, pinching it between his gloved fingers and stretching the elastic with his thumbs hooked in
the straps. “Do you want to keep your slingshot here? You know you’re not supposed to fly with weapons.”
I felt a hot scarlet blush cover my entire face and tried to snatch it out of his hands. Unfortunately, the straps were caught
on his fingers, so they just stretched comically like rubber bands when I tried to wrestle it away.
“Christ! You’ve got enough knickers here to outfit an army! What did you plan on doing with all of these?” he said, pulling
them out one by one and stacking them on the side to make a small monument to my humiliation.
“Clean undies are essential. Not that you would understand, you barbarian. You’ve probably been wearing the same pair since
we left Edinburgh.”
“Alice, I had no idea you’d been thinking on my pants this whole time. Need I remind you about the professional distance that
we’ve agreed to keep?” I scoffed and rolled my eyes.
Luckily he drew the line at my notably small-cupped bras—like someone had split a lemon lengthways, hollowed it out, and sewn the pieces together—probably deciding that there was no safe way to tease a woman about her bras, thank goodness.
“Shoes!”
My shoes were all in zippered plastic bags. I had never liked the idea of dirty shoes rubbing up on my clothes and pajamas
and unmentionables as they danced about in my luggage, so I always stored them in separate plastic bags. They were saved!
Nestled between them sat my makeup case—in another plastic bag to prevent an oil spill should my face lotion feel rebellious.
I extracted them carefully, unzipped, and checked for dampness. They looked clean to me! I would investigate more carefully
from my room, but for now, I was elated. This was a victory!
We finished up, and I scurried to my room quickly to scrub the living daylights out of my hands and then shower in scalding
water. We had dinner reservations soon. At least I would have decent shoes!
Just as I stepped out of the shower, I heard a tap at the door. My heart skipped a beat thinking it might be Robbie. I tightened
the towel around me, and my neck grew hot at the thought of having him here in the room with me, damp and naked. I looked
in the mirror and scolded my libido soundly into submission.
To my surprise, it was Helena.
“Alice, dear. I’ve got a little delivery for you.” She sneaked in with a look on her face as if we were in on a little secret
together. In her hand swung a garment bag with selfridges printed on it.
“Oh, Helena, you’re amazing, but I couldn’t possibly borrow anything of yours! What if I spill wine on it, or spatter pasta
sauce down the front?”
“It’s not a loan, darling. I told my daughter, Pippa, about your utterly horrifying ordeal, and she wanted to help. She’s one of the head buyers at Selfridges, so she had a few things lying about and sent over a little care package. I had to guess at your size, but hopefully I have just the thing for tonight.”
I stood stupefied. “No, Helena. You shouldn’t have. This is too much. I can’t accept.”
“Don’t be silly. Of course you can. Anyway, at least see what we’ve got before you decide.” She gave me a solicitous wink.
“I happen to think this dress might be your soulmate.”
She pulled at a hanger, and something expensive slinked out. She turned it around so I could take it in and then held it up
against my body to see how it might fit. My breath caught. It was silk in the most incredible shade of green—something between
emerald and a dark jade, changing hues ever so slightly as it moved in the light.
“Oh, Helena. It’s gorgeous.”
“And it’ll be gorgeous on you. Well, at least that’s tonight settled then.”
“How can I ever thank you? And your daughter? We’ve never even met!”
“Seeing the look on every man’s face when you walk in tonight will be thanks enough, darling.”
I blushed a bit at that, and she smiled, looking satisfied at having won the battle.
“Have you got any shoes, or shall I bring some of mine over?”
“I do have a pair of beige pumps, actually. Or black. All my shoes were in plastic bags, luckily. Which do you think?”
“We’ll try them both. Now run get changed, and let’s have a look at you.”
I nipped into the bathroom and wiggled into the dress. That’s when I realized half of it was missing—it was completely backless. The back scooped down low past the curve of my waist where the fabric hung open slightly, draping prettily before crossing in a vintage style, with three silk-covered buttons at the base of my lower back. The dress tightened then, fitting around the hips and bottom before flowing out from there to the hem. The front was fairly simple and modest, and the hemline was midcalf and the neckline high, but the silk showed every lump and curve of my body, every seam of my underwear.
I couldn’t wear this dress without a sturdy infrastructure. The top wasn’t tight, and you could see my nipples protesting
the chill. Worse still, the slightest movement sent the silk rippling over my skin like water, and at the right angle you
could see the shape of my breasts in their entirety.
Even a thong would have shown through this fabric, and what I was currently wearing was a forlorn, full-bottomed, gray cotton
brief that rode a little too high and had been washed more than the floor of a fishmonger’s.
No, it just wouldn’t work. Oh God, Helena had gone through all this trouble, and I would have to wear my ugly dress and torn
leggings after all.
“Let’s see, pet,” Helena called from the other side of the door.
I cracked the door and stuck my head out. “Oh, Helena. I’m so sorry. I can’t wear this tonight.”
“What’s the trouble? Doesn’t it fit?”
“Well, actually, it fits like a glove, but I don’t have a backless bra or Spanx or those sticky nipple petals or anything,
and everything is just, you know, there... on display.”
“But it’s silk. You’re not supposed to wear anything underneath silk. It’s made to caress your body in gentle waves, not to
show off the cut of your knickers.”
“You haven’t seen it. I could pose for a life-drawing class in that dress.”
“Come on out of there, you muppet. It’s only me.”
I creaked the door open and took a tentative step out into the room. Helena took a little breath in and covered her mouth.
“I know. As soon as I can, I’m going to buy the right underwear and—”
“It is absolute perfection,” she said slowly.
“No, really. I don’t think you—” I turned in a circle.
“It’s even more beautiful than I thought. You’re stunning.”
“But I couldn’t.”
“Alice, it’s silk. It’s made to be a little bit... suggestive, in a chic, sophisticated way, of course. You have the perfect
figure for it, and the green is incredible on you. Now dry your hair and put a little rouge on. We don’t want to be late.”
She gave me a serious look. “Yes?”
I inhaled deeply and consulted the mirror again. I straightened my posture and steeled my reserve. “Yes. Good pep talk. I’ll
see you downstairs in fifteen minutes. I’ll be the one with my headlights on.”
“Atta girl!”
I had my coat on when I met the others downstairs. At least it would buy me some time before disrobing dramatically at the
restaurant, but already the ladies were telling me how nice I looked, just to be in heels and a little more preened than usual.
The heels would be a bit tricky to navigate with the twisted ankle, but I knew we didn’t have far to walk. My ankle had been
feeling stronger lately, and I could hardly wear my sneakers. I would just have to take someone’s arm when needed.
The ladies looked amazing, many of them wearing dresses I hadn’t yet seen. I let out a low whistle. “Look out, London. Here
we come!” We all cheered.
As we walked in, we let out a collective sigh. The restaurant was situated above the London skyline on a rooftop, enclosed in a glass conservatory framed in white Victorian ironwork. There was one central tree strung with lights in an immense porcelain pot, four simple chandeliers, and basically no other decorations apart from the peonies and candles at each table. In its simplicity, there was sumptuous abundance.
A gentleman came to take our coats. I held my breath, peeled it off, and handed it over. I happened to see Robbie behind me
in the mirror. He stopped in the middle of unbuttoning and stood stock-still until the gentleman cleared his throat. The look
on Robbie’s face uncoiled something in my heart for a beat, then another slow, heavy beat. I blushed. There were gasps and
lavish compliments from the ladies and a look of smug gratification from Helena as I was led toward a table facing the river.
I had decided to leave my crutches with my coat and make my way to the table gingerly in what I hoped was a sexy, slinky way.
Helena put my hand in the crook of her elbow—lest all her good work be shattered by a ruinous moment that left me sprawling
on the tiled floor sans panties.
Everyone in the restaurant was achingly fashionable, from the impeccably beautiful to the sharp and edgy. Of our dazzling
cavalcade of gussied-up octogenarians, Berrta was the one exception. She wore pleated chinos, a brown sweater, and orthopedic
walking shoes that looked very supportive. She didn’t look the least bit self-conscious. In fact, she looked pleased and perfectly
comfortable, and I loved her all the more for it.
We were utterly spoiled. Helena ordered three bottles of champagne to start and the chef’s personal tasting menu for the entire
table, alongside glittering wine pairings that we knew we would never taste again. She waved away our protestations. “It’s
much too beautiful a night to worry ourselves with foolish moderation.”
London stretched out around us in every direction, and Helena had timed it perfectly so we would arrive just as the sun was finishing its descent, setting fire to the Thames and its bridge. The London Eye was lit up in an outstanding show, and even the iconic Big Ben was in view, its face beginning to glow in the fading light. Everything around us changed from golden orange and pink to indigo, and then to inky, star-studded velvet. I couldn’t believe that anything could be so marvelous.
A few times I happened to catch Robbie’s eye, and when I did, the look on his face made my heart pound. He looked so handsome.
He didn’t often wear much color, but tonight he was in a royal blue cashmere sweater that made his eyes sparkle.
It was almost as if we were both in costume. Almost as if we could be other people, out at a beautiful restaurant, meeting
for the first time. I wanted to forget all the arguments and battling egos, the phone calls to the secret girlfriend, and
just enjoy the way it made me feel when he looked at me the way he did. Even though I knew I couldn’t.
During one of the dessert courses, Doris began to cough, and downed the rest of the water in her glass. I got up quickly to
retrieve another one from the bar, and remembered halfway there that heels, champagne, and twisted ankles make for poor companions.
Just as I slowed down with a wobble, I felt Robbie’s hands on my arm, holding me steady. He escorted me the few remaining
feet to the bar.
“Sit here for a second, and take the weight off your ankle. I’ll be right back.” He hurried the glass of water to Doris.
“Hi” was all he said when he returned a minute later.
“Hi,” I repeated, and we sat for a few moments, the music swelling in the air.
“Is Doris okay?”
“Good as new.” He turned to me, and we both sipped at our waters. The silence grew thick and hungry between us. His eyes seemed
to search me, trying to figure me out. It was too much. I broke first.
“Well, I have to say that I, for one, am disappointed in this place. I was really hoping for something more Medieval Times–themed, with wenches serving watery beer, and where we could eat turkey legs and ham hocks with our bare hands and then toss the bones to the floor while people jousted below. You know—the real London.”
“My God, Alice, you’re beautiful.”
It was nothing, really, just a compliment from a handsome man, nothing more. The fact that it lit my nerves on fire and engulfed
me so completely that I could no longer breathe was irrelevant. I swallowed, blinked, breathed in a shaking breath and gathered
jokes about me like armor against this relentless onslaught of charm.
“Oh, this old thing?” I gestured to my fabulous dress. “Everything else I own is a biohazard, so I guess I made the right
choice. Wouldn’t you agree?”
He looked at me unguardedly for a moment.
“I think it’s probably not a good idea for me to make any comments about the way you look in that dress tonight.” His eyes
caught mine. “They would definitely not be professional in nature.”
My stomach flipped. I kept my face very calm so that he wouldn’t see the hurricane he was causing. “Oh? And what about telling
me I was beautiful just a moment ago?”
“Purely professional.” His deadpan delivery shocked a laugh out of me.
“Really? Is this a service that I paid for?”
“It’s all in the tour package you purchased. In fact, I just told Doris she was sizzling hot in that trouser suit, and gave
Agatha a pinch on the bum. You shouldn’t take these things to heart.”
I laughed. “Wow. Lucky ladies! Is the whole group getting the same treatment?”
“No, not everyone. Lorna and Madge got a refund. Berrta paid double.”
I gasped and laughed.
“What does that get her?”
“My client contracts are strictly confidential, I’m afraid. You only got the introductory package, so you’ve had your lot for the rest of the trip.”
“What a rip-off. At least at Medieval Times I could expect a serf to whistle lewd remarks at me, or a knight to offer me a
grope of his codpiece.”
“Oh, aye, but that’s English codpiece. Not worth the trouble.”
“Oh really? And is this conclusion the result of rigorous study, Mr. Brodie?”
“Course not. Flossie told me.”
I laughed in outrage. “She did not!”
“Oh, she most certainly did. I believe the comparison she used was dachshunds and Dobermans.”
“She did not!” I laughed. It did sound like her. “I don’t believe a word of it! What utter nonsense.”
“Only one way to be sure.” He gave me a salacious sideways look. “Ask Berrta.” I laughed so loud that some of the ladies glanced
over at us. “After her pickleball excursions, she could publish a peer-reviewed study.”
I couldn’t hold back the saucy smile warming my face, and we just looked at each other for a heavy moment and grinned. “So
what package would I have to buy to take your arm and have you walk me back to the table?” His eyebrow cocked and he looked
at me sidelong.
“Well, that all depends where you’re wanting me to put my hand.”
After dinner, we had tickets for Hamlet at the Globe. As we filed in and shuffled down the row of wooden benches, I realized I would be sitting next to Robbie, and
my heart gave a little lurch before I told it to be quiet.
It was open-air and the night was chilly, so I was happy to be sandwiched between Robbie and Helena. The play was incredible. The benches, however, were terribly uncomfortable—you know, so that we could pretend we lived in the Middle Ages. My bottom became completely numb, like I was sitting on a slab of cold beef. I hugged my coat so tightly around me that the seams strained. Robbie unfurled his scarf and, soundlessly leaning over, he wrapped it around my neck, looping it twice and tucking the ends in, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. The scarf was still warm from his neck, and the intoxicating smell of him took me over. My eyelids fluttered closed.
For the rest of the play, like a stupid schoolgirl, I could notice nothing but the warm length of Robbie’s leg pressing against
my own. I could feel his muscles move when he shifted in his seat, and it made my skin tingle. Every second strung out into
an eternity. It was all I could do to remember to watch to the play.
Hamlet thinks he has questions? He doesn’t know the half of it.