Chapter 9
Varen’s package awaited Nala Friday evening when she returned from work. Finally, some nice clothes. She knew she was helpless when it came to picking out her outfits. Especially outfits that were meant to impress… well, anyone.
Nala took it into the dining room where Patrick wouldn’t bother her.
He was busy in the living room, watching cartoons and pontificating about the merits of non-gendered aliens in the media to no one in particular.
Nala wasn’t sure if he was on the phone or recording into a mic on his laptop.
She honestly did not want to know. I meet enough people who are talking to absolutely no one on the street.
She was pretty sure she worked with one too.
A pocketknife opened the box from a boutique that Nala had never heard of. I wonder who picked this out. Did Varen have an assistant? Did she use a personal shopper? She didn’t seem like the type. She also didn’t seem the type to shop on her break. Not for a dress, anyway.
Nala pulled back the box flaps and hooked her fingers around the soft black fabric. What she lifted from the box, however, was anything but anticipated.
Oh, it was sexy. Too sexy! Halter straps wrapped around the neck before blooming into two strips of wavy fabric meant to not-so-demurely cover the breasts.
That wouldn’t be terrible if it weren’t for the giant, gaping hole over the stomach area.
Nala could not figure out how the fuck these two straps connected to a miniskirt, but here she was, standing in a dining room with a high-class escort’s dress in her hands.
“You’ve gotta be kidding.” Nala was so distracted by the dress that she almost missed the strappy stiletto shoes tucked at the bottom of the box.
So, this was the outfit Varen picked out. Even if she hadn’t picked it out – and even if she hadn’t seen it – she still signed off on it, like the total weirdo she was.
On one hand, the fantasy enabler inside Nala liked the idea of that woman picking out a hot outfit like this.
On the other, it did color her. Before now, Varen came across as relatively safe, surprise first kiss aside.
Nala never felt threatened around her. She never felt anything but…
protected. Granted, it was from a distance, but Varen was the type to shadow and make sure nothing befell Nala when she suffered bouts of stupidity.
Or at least that’s what Nala liked to pretend.
Until now.
She escaped into the bathroom. The dress said, “eight petite,” but she was suspicious that it was big enough to fit her at all.
As she stripped down to nothing but her underwear, she quickly discovered that this barely-there dress did slip nicely over her frame and cover what it was supposed to…
even if that was her breasts, crotch, and ass.
Because that skirt sure as hell didn’t go anywhere near her knees.
She would be pulling this down every few minutes!
The shoes made it worse. They were taller and skinnier than any Nala had worn before, making her wobble on the bathroom floor like an inexperienced teen girl.
I feel so exposed. Not even her sweater would help her this time.
The only way she could feel covered in any way was to wear her hair down.
It fell, straight as a lonely board, over her shoulders and toward her bare stomach.
A prepared woman would have a bellybutton piercing to decorate the getup.
As it was, she didn’t even have nice jewelry to go with this. Her straight hair would have to do.
Her phone buzzed. “Out front.” Oh, sure, Varen was showing up now, ten minutes early?
Yet here she was, acting like this was the exact time she was supposed to be there.
Now Nala had to gather her bearings and walk out to the car – possibly with ice covering the walkway – and not fall on her ass. Or freeze to death.
Somehow, she did a passable job. She shuffled in those spiky heels to the front door and eased her way down the three porch steps and onto the concrete.
Insufferable cold hit her legs and stomach, the two places her sweater couldn’t protect her.
The moment she saw Nala carefully walking down the front path, Varen got out of her car and opened her door.
Everyone in this neighborhood thinks I’m a fucking call-girl.
Well, she was dressed and paid for like one.
“When I said I needed new shoes, these weren’t what I had in mind.” That was her greeting to Varen as she lowered into the car without breaking an ankle. Miraculous.
The door closed behind her, leaving her to stew in the warmth of the car. The windows fogged as Varen got in on the other side and drove away without a word.
This was Nala’s first time being in her presence since her Monday foray in the shower.
Hey, girl, it’s almost like we fucked. Trust me, entering a fantasy of mine is a pretty big honor.
It doesn’t happen with simply anyone. Nala stared at her in the dark of the car, her profile firm and resolute.
She was wearing the tie-less three-piece again, only this time instead of a white shirt it was silky black, decorated with glass buttons.
I wonder what she looks like under there.
Did the woman work out? Was she a runner?
Lift weights? All Nala knew about Varen’s physique was that she didn’t look overweight and that she had firm arms. Didn’t exactly say too much.
“I hope the dress isn’t too terrible,” she mumbled, eyes focused on the road.
Nala scoffed. “I feel like I’m barely wearing anything. Who picked this out? You?”
She glanced in Nala’s direction. “Yes.”
“Really?”
“Who else would have done it? I’m the only one who knows about this arrangement.”
“That’s…” Weird. “I thought maybe you had an assistant. Don’t most people of your standing use assistants?”
“I try to avoid them whenever possible. They get in the way and rarely understand directions. I’m a big fan of if you want something done right, you must do it yourself.”
Nala nodded. “I feel the same way. Although…”
Varen eased on the brakes as they approached a light. “What is it?”
Nala gripped the seat belt touching her exposed stomach. “What made you choose this dress? Is this the kind of stuff you’re into?”
She expected Varen to give that same expressionless demeanor she always had.
No wonder Nala was shaken to the core of her naked navel when Varen laughed.
Not hard, and certainly nothing more than an ill-timed guffaw.
It was enough to unnerve Nala, however, who stayed on her side of the car with a twist of the mouth.
“Hey, could be worse,” she said. “I’m sure someone will show up in bondage gear.”
The thought of anyone buying her bondage wear sent a wave of nausea straight to Nala’s empty stomach – which promptly growled loudly enough to compete with the motor of the car.
Varen stopped chuckling. “Hungry, huh?”
Nala kept her face turned toward the window so Varen couldn’t see the embarrassment pinking her cheeks.
“A little. I didn’t eat after getting home.”
She did, however, eat a substantial lunch.
Something she could get used to if Varen kept paying her like a high-priced escort.
That reminds me… do I get another payment this Sunday?
Check in the mail? Direct bank transfer?
How was this going to work, exactly? Something to ask over dinner.
“Don’t worry, we’re almost to the restaurant.”
They had already crossed the bridge into Downtown.
It’s weird how there’s so little traffic for this time of day.
Maybe the waves parted to admit a woman of Varen Lake’s standing.
As if the collective commuting consciousness knew to bow to her like a queen coming through her court.
No, that’s more like a Xan Ravenwood thing.
The man who owned half the town. What did Varen own?
Besides me, apparently. Nala nuked that thought from her brain.
“Hope you like seafood.” Varen pulled up to a valet and motioned for Nala to get out.
“Do I have a choice?” The driver-side door shut in her face before she had the chance to mumble some more in Varen’s direction. So much for chivalry.
“I’ve made reservations.” Varen extended her arm, waiting for Nala to take it as she stepped onto the quiet sidewalk. “Otherwise, we would be waiting a while.”
Nala looked around. The fa?ade was yet another abandoned warehouse, a common sight along the Willamette River.
Once upon a time – even back in Nala’s childhood – this was a busy industrial village keeping the economy churning one day at a time.
Now those time-honored businesses were long gone, replaced with empty, decaying buildings that were slowly converted into lofts and cafés and whatever this was.
They stepped into a bright, warm foyer full of floral scents and the sounds of live piano.
Fancy. Some said this was why they came to Portland – to enjoy the culture hiding within abandoned this and that.
Nala never paid them much mind. Now, as she and Varen were led through winding hallways to a private dining alcove overlooking the river, she wondered what other fancy gems hid within buildings like these.
You never knew because you never looked. Nala scoffed at herself. You never looked because you know this world isn’t for you. Sometimes, one had to tell themselves the hardest truths to get by unscathed.
“Let me get your sweater.” Varen already had her hands on Nala’s.
Well, then. Soft fabric passed her arms as she was exposed to the warm air.
Her hair kept out the chill, but it wasn’t enough to stop her nipples from suddenly hardening within her dress.
Nala felt silly turning around to sit in the nearest chair.
“Here.” There Varen was, pulling out her chair like a perfect princely figure of Nala’s imagination. Who is this woman? Was she being nice because she read Nala’s thoughts earlier?
She caught Varen’s glance as she smoothed down her skirt to sit down, a healthy helping of cleavage appearing before widening eyes.
“You look…” Varen stopped, hurrying to drape Nala’s sweater on the back of her chair before sitting down across from her. A small flower arrangement and a burning candle separated them. This is supposed to be romantic, I guess. “You’re beautiful.”
Nala looked up from the menu she pretended to peruse. “Thanks.”
Pages of fish names passed. Where’s the salads? She wasn’t used to big meals anymore.