Shopping with Jenna

Background: Piet helps his mate, Jenna, get ready for a big night out. This forms the chapter 'Call me a Consultant' in the book DLC15. 

I got a phone call one Friday night.

<Bzzt>

“Hey, has that new woman of yours got you booked for tomorrow?”

“Hello? This is Piet Malone.”

“It’s me, look, are you doing anything tomorrow that I can’t cancel for you?”

It was Jenna. It finally twigged. Too many women calling me these days?

“Oh, no. I’m still free for the day. No promises for the night …”

“Don’t want to know. Look, I need to go shopping in the city, & I need your expert opinion for buying sexy dresses to attract the male of the species, OK?”

“Sure.”

“I’ll meet you at the bus stop around nine, yeah?”

“OK, no wuckas, chick.”

“Don’t …!”

I was going shopping. It had been ages since we had a really big shopping expedition – I don’t just mean the local browsings that happen about once a month – we was going to the city!

At around nine, I got to the major bus stop in the area. I say major, because buses seem to go all over the place from here. We must be one of those big bus hub things. At the Uni, they go East & West, & you just have to watch the numbers from half a dozen different stop points. Here, it’s chaos.

The bus ride in was just one of those we’re-not-having-a-coffee-but-we-may-as-well-do chats, where I caught up with old academic friends, & she told me all of the gossip. It’s the same thing.

“I want to do Centrepoint,” she explained as we started walking from the QVB.

“Anything special? Desperate & Dateless has passed. What other sleaze balls do you frequent?”

“Oh, it’s just a dinner that my gang are organising. It’s pretty spiffy, & I thought I needed a new dress.”

“Who is he?”

“Who?”

“The guy you’re going to impress with the dress.”

“What guy?”

“There’s always a guy. You plan on squeezing what you’ve got into a size too small to have the maximum exposure. You’ve got guy-bait written all over your face.”

“There’s no guy.”

I raised an eyebrow, then realised that we were walking side by side, & she may not have noticed.

“I am raising my eyebrow in disbelief.”

“Which one?”

“What?”

“Which eyebrow?”

“Which guy?”

“I asked first!”

“God, you’re childish.”

“Am not!”

“Are too!”

Heaven forbid that anyone that knew either of us would see us when we’re like this, grinning like idiots & acting like two-year-olds. We used to be so concerned that people would see us at coffee, heads together, talking relationships, laughing at ourselves. Now, it really is a case of ‘who cares?’ We know there’s nothing going on between us. We’re past it.

“Red,” I said, to change the topic back to where it should be.

“Huh?”

“Red. You don’t wear enough red, & with your hair you can always get away with it.”

“What about white?”

I raised another eyebrow. It was probably the same one.

“I don’t picture you in white. Ever.”

“That’s unfair. I can play innocent.”

“I don’t even want to know about that nurse’s outfit in your closet!”

“& you’re saying you don’t have one?”

“Yeah, but at least I know first aid!”

Do you ever get to that point in the conversation where it’s going nowhere fast, & then it goes beyond that? We do. It’s OK. You just step back a bit & try again. No harm done.

“Above the knee.”

“It has to be dressy.”

“Above the knee is dressy. I’m not talking mini-skirt, just show your knees.”

“I’d rather not.”

“OK, maybe you’re right on that one. With your knees, the guy might get the wrong idea.”

“There’s no guy!”

“There’s always a guy!”

This was not a lovers’ tiff, no matter how bad it sounded as we stood outside one of Jenna’s favourite fashion haunts.

“That was too loud, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

We went in & started browsing.

“You’re just after something for the one night, right?”

“Right, why?”

“Well, they’ve got some day dresses over here, & maybe you could just have a look while we’re here.”

“How about we get the night dress first? Concentrate! Who’d bring you on a shopping expedition, anyway?”

“You do. Always. Otherwise, you’d have nothing to impress the guy with.”

“I’ve got stuff!”

“Yes, & we’re here to find something to cover it with.”

“Will you …” & she laughed because it had taken her a moment to realise what I’d said.

I know I haven’t described Jenna physically, except to say that she’s shortish. She has shoulder-length wavy chestnut hair, about average build, but quite well endowed. At least, she continually gives that impression by wearing clothes that are a little tight around her bust. This is either her standard ploy, or else she has problems finding the right size. Being a psychologist, I think she finds it convenient to be a bit of both. Being her fashion co-ordinator, I find it a little frustrating that she won’t always go for a size that doesn’t look like she’s busting out all over, but I’m usually happy with the result anyway. If there was anything going on …

I held up a dress.

“Look, I haven’t found your size yet, but the colouring would do well.”

“No. Put it back. I need the evening dress first. Stop distracting me – anyway, it’s got one hell of a cleavage revealer on it.”

“So?”

“You’re such a man!”

“Isn’t that why you bring me along?”

“Only partly. Follow me to the crinkoline.”

Neither of us have any idea what crinkoline is. We made the word up when every second dress that we saw in one particular shop specialising in evening wear was made in the same fabric – colours ranging from white to red to black (that’s the whole range). The fabric is a little like seersucker (to me), but in an eveningwear way, not just draping a tablecloth around your shoulders. I still have no idea what it is.

“It could be cold. What are you doing for sleeves?”

“I’ll take a coat. Pretend it will be warm inside.”

“Strapless?”

“It’s not a ball!”

“You hadn’t said!”

“Just a posh restaurant.”

“OK, let’s do something revealing, then, then lace over it for the demure look. Hang on, these are your friends – they’re not going to be fooled.”

“I like the idea, though – a lace wrap.”

“Then you can have something low cut, even if it’s not strapless. Take this – it could have been a ball gown if it was a bit longer. Right now, it’s a simple straight-up-&-down-sheath.”

“Find my size. I like it.”

“It’s the wrong red, anyway – you should do the blood, like this – & there’s yours, I think.”

“Anything else I should try while we’re here?”

“Well, if you want to go really different, there’s the Chinese job over there. The green one with the red frills & tassels.”

“What’s with the tassels?”

“I like tassels!”

“I don’t want to know! I’ll think about it, then, while I’m trying this on.”

She came out after a minute or three, a hand calling me over towards the dressing rooms. I have this slight phobia about women’s clothing stores & their dressing rooms. I mean, I’m not the guy who hangs around outside the shop waiting for the missus to finish, but I get a little anxious that other women might think I’m a pervert if I hang around the dressing room doors while Jenna’s squeezing herself into something. I know she doesn’t need any help (generally) to get into the clothes, so I’m at a loss for a bit.

“Too tight?” she asked hopefully.

This is the delicate part. I can say ‘you’ve put on weight’, or ‘are you sure that’s the right size’, or just keep my mouth shut & hope she can do whatever it is she did to get herself into the dress, at least once more.

“Are you going to wear underwear?”

“What?”

“Panty-line. Wear a G. Or nothing. Your choice.”

“Is it that bad?”

“At the moment, I’m fretting over your bra, but we can hide it a little with the wrap. The underwear is a severe problem.”

“I’ll buy a G.”

“Good girl.”

As we left the shop, with an overly-priced piece of lace that even I could have sewn up the edge on in a matter of moments if I had a machine, it struck me that I had no idea when the party was.

“When’s the do?”

“Tonight.”

“Shouldn’t you be rushing around washing your hair or something?”

“Don’t be silly, he’s not picking me up until seven.”

She looked at me aghast. I just grinned. I’d put her off her guard, & she’d let it slip. Like there was any doubt about there being a man!

“What’s his name?”

“Who?”

How can you act innocent now??

“Fine.”

We still had plenty of time to drop in at the Mac centre for lunch – only a little later than usual, & then Jenna went to buy herself a G. She’s not really the kind of girl who owns one, I guess. I’d never really thought about it much, but that would be a side of her that I don’t want to know about at this point in our friendship. Her underwear drawer is totally her concern - although I think I’ve helped her pick a bra before.

I offered to go in with her & see what it looked like when she tried it on, but she declined. I suggested leopard-skin, but she ignored me – I think. I never did get to see what she bought. I think I’d stepped too far over the ‘silly’ line by then.

On the way back home for the short journey we had left, she dropped the last bombshell.

“You want to come over tonight & make sure I get everything in place?”

“Me wha’?”

“Look, you know how I hate mirrors. I just need you to drop by & give an opinion on the ensemble.”

“I can do that. But aren’t you afraid that I’ll still be hanging around when he arrives?”

“Don’t be daft. I’m not leaving that to chance. You’re out of there by six-thirty if I have to toss you out the window into the pool. & you’d better hope I’m a good shot, because it’s a small target from the third floor.”

“I get the picture. See you at six, then.”

Well, I still had nothing better to do.

I could have walked there, but I drove. I don’t know why. I guess it was a bit chilly, & I didn’t want to dedicate several hours to a quick primping session. I didn’t quite know what to expect – whether Jenna would be ready, or roaming around in a bathrobe & undies or some such. I dreamed of the latter, but expected that our expertly-planned Jenna was ready to rock & roll – an hour before she needed to be.

“Where have you been? It’s nearly five past!”

“Keep your knickers on – you are wearing them?”

“Come inside, dammit!”

“Best offer I’ve had all day.”

“Come over here into the light & tell me what you think. I know I haven’t finished make-up or anything, but what about the clothes?”

“You’re putting on make-up?”

Jenna, aside from not being the kind of girl who goes around in a G-string, is also not the kind I often see in make-up. She’s a bit of a minimalist. Not feral, just minimal. She does shave her armpits. She generally doesn’t need make-up, because she has fantastic peaches-&-cream complexion & stays out of the sun religiously.

“Will you be serious?”

“Yeah, I know, he’ll be here soon. Where did you guys meet?”

“We haven’t … I mean … bugger.”

“A blind date? Are you kidding me? You’re going on a blind date?”

“It’s not blind. He knows the gang; I know the gang; we’re just two singles going out with the gang … together.”

“You’re going on a blind date. No wonder you fell for the underwear thing.”

“What do you mean ‘fell for’?? Oh god! You were kidding?”

“Well, no, I mean, a G was the thing. You can’t go around in your cottontails with that dress on, but you went for it big-time, when I thought you’d at least put up a token resistance.”

“I’m making a fool of myself, aren’t I? & it’s all your fault!”

“Don’t go precious. He’ll be here soon.”

“What about my panty-line?”

“Well, if you stand still long enough, I’ll have a quick squiz & see that all is in place.”

“Have you got enough light? Do you want to go into the bedroom?”

“We haven’t time for that, your date’ll be here any minute.”

I said it with a leer, but she didn’t catch on. She must have been in a real tizz.

“What time is it?”

“About five minutes after I got here. Will you relax? Take a valium, or a herbal tea or something. Do you want me to fix this twist in your knickers, or are you going to do it yourself?”

“Don’t you dare! Where? I can’t see! OK. You just keep your hands where I can see them.”

“Then I won’t be able to do it.”

“Alright. I see your point. No funny business.”

“God, I could have done it ten times by now – & fixed your twist!”

“Yeah, yeah. Get over yourself. What about the rest?”

“Where’s the shawl?”

“Here.”

She quickly threw it over her shoulders.

“Have you got a small brooch?”

“Why?”

“It’s a low dress. Either we leave the lace to flap in the breeze, or we tie it to the dress, or else we just use the brooch as a weight & eye-catcher in front.”

“What do you think?”

“Use the dead weight. A guy likes an excuse for looking at cleavage.”

“Are you sure you’re not doing this for yourself?”

“I’m a guy. I just do it.”

“What’s the time?”

“Haven’t you got your watch on?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“OK, you’re done. Go & do make-up. I’ll blow this place before lover-boy arrives. Don’t think you have to be ready. Be fashionably late – give him five minutes to stare at the pool or something.”

“Why?”

“You’re making yourself bootiful. Trust me. The results won’t matter if he just believes you’ve put the effort in.”

“You were a girl in your last life weren’t you? I think you must have been a real bitch.”

“Thanks Jenna. It’s compliments like that that remind me why we get along so well.”

“Now, scoot.”

& with that, she ushered me to the door with the appropriate level of rudeness that keeps our relationship vibrant.