43. Joey
43
Joey
I escaped Aunty’s matchmaking attempts, the chaos of her house, and the annoying man who wouldn’t stop following me around last night. I took the train first thing in the morning to Connecticut where Charlie picked me up. She greeted me as she always does with an effusive hug, almost bringing me to tears at the relief that filled me. I had been terrified that it would never be the same between us, especially since I was the one to leave Brent.
“Zip me up?” she asks, turning to the side and raising her arm so I can access the zipper.
We’re in the dressing room at the back of Andi’s small dress shop in Greenwich. Charlie is trying on the gown Andi designed for her to wear at an upcoming charity gala.
I do the zipper, and when Charlie turns, I’m in awe of Andi’s talent. The dress is royal blue and silver with a high waist and a layered skirt made of a flowy material. The fabric crisscrosses over Charlie’s breasts, but with added silver beading, leading to thinly braided, silver shoulder straps.
“Wow, Charlie! You look like a princess. And you’re practically glowing in it. It’s gorgeous, Andi.”
“I’d love to take credit for her glow, but I think it might be the pregnancy,” Andi says, her own face glowing with the compliment. “Charlie, I could have made something more fitting around your waist. You barely have a bump. I think I looked like I’d swallowed a basketball by this time in my pregnancy.”
Besides her mother and sisters, Charlie has only told me and Andi. We’re all sworn to secrecy since she’s not ready for the public—or Brent—to know about it yet. I’ve tried to make her admit it’s someone on the team, but she refuses to give a hint about the father.
“This is perfect since there was a chance I could have been bigger,” Charlie replies. “And it really is beautiful.” She smooths her hands over the fabric and turns this way and that to see the different angles in the three-way mirror.
Andi takes another gown off the rack in the dressing room. “This one is for you, Joey. Try it on. I’ll be right back.” Before I can protest, she leaves to greet a customer who has just walked in.
I assess the neckline of the dress and laugh. “Yeah, I’m not putting that on.”
“You have to try it on, at least. Andi made it especially for you, and it would hurt her feelings if you don’t.”
Charlie’s right, but I pout and grumble, “But what was she thinking with this gown? She knows it’s not my style.”
“You haven’t found your style yet,” Charlie says. “Although I’ve noticed the lack of scarves lately. I like it.”
I glance at Andi through the open curtain. She is showing one of her designs to an older woman. Charlie follows my gaze.
“You think Andi will be able to talk her out of that design?” Charlie whispers with a smirk. The shop is unique in that it displays her designs on mannequins of varying shapes. She wants customers to have an idea of what a dress will look like on them. She then customizes it further with colors and patterns that will be flattering to that particular customer—thus the name Andi’s Designs.
The high-end clientele has grown during the short time it has been open. Customers might not always appreciate being told a certain design is not for them, but they always appreciate how good they look in what Andi guides them into—and they are willing to pay the price for the excellent quality and custom fit.
The red dress I wore to dinner when I moved to Queens is an example of her talent. As is the gown Charlie is still holding for me to try on. It’s a halter top design, with narrow straps that wrap around the neck and a plunging back that will make it impossible to wear a bra with it. I haven’t gone out in public without one since I started developing, and I’m not about to start now. I’ll try the gown on to satisfy my two friends, though I have no occasion to wear it.
Sighing, I close the curtain and strip to my underwear. Charlie is the only person who’s seen me naked besides Brent and my gynecologist. Having changed in front of each other since we were ten, I’ve gotten used to it. I carefully pull on the gown while Charlie changes out of hers.
“Holy fuck, Joey!” she exclaims when she turns after hanging up her dress, her eyes and mouth open in shock.
I run my gaze over my body in the mirror to check if anything has popped out.
“You should be modeling that on a magazine cover.”
I blush at the compliment, which is sincere. She’s not one for meaningless flattery.
Andi has sewn in built-in support and fitted the bodice perfectly so I don’t require a bra. The inner fabric is a soft spandex-type material to hold everything in. The outer layer is black silk scattered with tiny crystals and embroidered with black flowers. The cutouts at my ribs expose the curve of my waist. Most of my back is bare except for two narrow strips that crisscross from the nape of my neck to the sides of my breasts. That small yet important detail not only provides additional support, but also prevents a side-boob mishap.
Like Charlie’s, the long skirt falls to the floor in a flowy, shallow bell around my legs. Unlike Charlie’s, it hugs my figure to my waist, where it flares a bit. A long side slit goes very high up one thigh. It’s hidden due to the overlapping fabric, but my entire leg would be exposed when I walk. I’d have to be careful how I sit to avoid flashing anything else.
I’ve spent my life in casual, mostly athletic, clothing, so dressing up in such a feminine gown feels odd. It had taken some convincing by Charlie for me to dress up the last time. If I were to ever wear this anywhere, I’d be glad Andi used black fabrics. It’s already so daring that any other color would make it stand out even more.
As gorgeous as the dress is, it is too bold for me—or more accurately, I’m not bold enough for it. Other women, more confident women, could pull this off, but I can’t. It shows too much of my skin and cleavage. I try pulling the fabric to cover the cleavage, but there’s not enough give.
“Okay, you’re definitely going to the gala with me and you’re definitely wearing that,” Charlie says.
“I’m not stepping foot outside of the dressing room wearing this, never mind to an event.” Still, I can’t help doing as Charlie had done and turn to the side to see how it looks from the side and back. Other than the overflowing boobage, I love the gown and how it makes me feel beautiful and feminine.
The way Brent makes me feel.
I shake the thought away. “But you haven’t told me what the event is for. You don’t normally go to these high-priced functions.”
“It’s a benefit for community youth sports. More than half the attendees are going to be local pro athletes, so I’m covering it for work.”
Andi steps back in, rolling her eyes. “That woman was set on a dress that would make her look like—” She stops in her tracks and stares in amazement. “Joey!” she exclaims.
Charlie grins at Andi’s reaction. “Right? You have outdone yourself with this one, Andi.”
“Oh please, please tell me you’re going with Charlie and wearing that on the red carpet.” She clasps her hands and holds them under her chin in a pleading gesture, bouncing on her toes in excitement.
“I’m working on it,” Charlie says.
“A photo of the two of you in media coverage of the event would be the best marketing I could ask for. I knew it would be perfect for you, Joey, with your figure.”
“The gown is gorgeous, Andi,” I say, putting a hand over my cleavage. “But I can’t wear something like this.”
“You’ve got spectacular breasts. I’d show them off if I had any,” Charlie laments, staring at her own almost flat chest.
“They’re spectacularly large, you mean.”
“I’ve told you before, you are not abnormally large,” Andi admonishes. “And I’m not recommending this, but have you considered a reduction if it makes you so uncomfortable?”
“I did, but one, I couldn’t afford it. And two, I’m more terrified of the surgery than I am uncomfortable with having them.” When I researched it out of curiosity, a rash of stories about famous people dying from elective surgeries came out around that time. I took it as a sign and decided it was too much of a risk.
“You should see how many designs I’ve sketched for you that would show them off to perfection, but”—Andi sighs—“as self-conscious as you are about that, I thought this design would work well. Some cleavage but good coverage overall. When you moved in with Brent, I was hoping you’d wear it to some fancy event and tell everyone who you’re wearing, like all the WAGs.” She looks up at me with her sparkling light gray-green eyes, grinning unapologetically.
Before I can respond, the bell over the shop door jingles. “I’ll be back,” Andi says.
“I hate to burst her bubble and tell her I won’t be going anywhere with Brent.” I examine my image in the three-way mirror. “Or that this beautiful gown will not be garnering any publicity, at least not from me.” I ignore the wistful tone in my voice.
“We’re going shoe shopping after this to buy you some fuck-me stilettos to go with it. And I say keep the accessories to a minimum to maximize the effect of the gown.”
“Charlie, I’m not wearing high heels.” I only wear flats, except to the dinner we went to after I moved to Queens. I shake away the image of what happened with Brent in the office and the rush of emotions that come with it. “And I’m not wearing this, either.”
“Brent’s going to be at the event.” She pauses dramatically then adds, “So is Caitlyn.”
“What?” My heart twists.
“Not together!” Charlie grimaces apologetically. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to imply that. I got an advance copy of the attendees, and he’s listed with no plus one. She’s a guest of someone else. So, wear this dress and—”
“I can’t go. I don’t have an invite.”
“Not a problem.” Charlie must have been planning this before this morning because she responds immediately. “I wasn’t given a plus-one ticket, but you can go with one of the Firebirds. I’ll set it up. It’ll be the perfect way to make Brent jealous.”
“Why would I want to make him jealous?”
Charlie’s look tells me my words don’t fool her. The photo I saw on social media this morning of him kissing some woman on his lap makes me want to scratch his eyes out. Was it taken before or after he tried to see me at Aunty’s?
“Okay. Do it to make him think you’ve moved on.”
Except I haven’t moved on. I can’t stop thinking about him. I miss him terribly. But Charlie’s right. Brent doesn’t need to know that.
It’s ironic that it’s because of him that I refuse to settle for whatever he’s willing to give me. He made me feel perfect exactly the way I am and gave my self-esteem a huge boost, showing me I deserve much more.
If there’s a possibility that he’s back with Caitlyn or has gone back to his old ways of sleeping around with random women, I want to show him I’ve moved on too. I refuse to turn back into the girl I was before, or into my mother—lifeless and alone and miserable because the man she loved didn’t love her back.
No, I like the woman I’ve become. I’ll take what I’ve learned from being with him to be this stronger version of myself. Even if I have to do it without him from now on.