Skintight (13 page)

Eventually, when it began to sink in that she couldn't simply prop herself against the door for the rest of the night, she smiled goofily. Then, drawn by the clink of dishes and animated voices coming from her small dining table, she drifted back to rejoin her guests.

E
LLEN DIDN'T SLAM
the door behind her when she returned to her apartment later that evening. She'd lived far too many years with her husband, Winston, who had liked things on an even keel, to radically change her behavior at this late date. She closed the door with deliberate gentleness.

In her mind, however, she banged it so hard it rattled the windows, shivered the timbers, and shook the entire building on its foundation. “Dress like a crow, my sweet fanny!” She strode straight into her bedroom and over to the mirrored doors of her closet.

Fine,
she thought fiercely as she checked out her reflection.
I wore black tonight.
Big deal. It was a good, basic color, the foundation of every woman's wardrobe. One could dress black up or down. Still, she had clothes in lots of other colors. Sliding open the doors, she rattled hangers one by one along the bar, taking stock.

She had black, black, navy, black, brown, black—aha!—
taupe
and
beige
, navy with white piping, black, forest green, black and brown,
golden
brown, and…black. She also had several crisp white blouses of various styles interspersed. Her shoulders sagged. Oh, dear.
She'd never realized her wardrobe was quite so…dark. So unstimulating.

The doorbell rang and, grateful for the interruption, she abandoned the closet. Opening her door, she was surprised to see Treena standing on the other side. “Well, hello there. It seems like an age since I've seen you.”

Treena laughed. “I know, long time, no see.” She extended the cookie plate. “I just wanted to return this while I was thinking about it. Otherwise it's bound to sit on my counter gathering dust for the next week or two.”

Instead of accepting the dish right away, Ellen stepped back into the small entryway and invited Treena in. “And, really,” she insisted when her young friend complied, “you didn't have to wash it.”

Treena's mouth quirked. “I'd hardly call it washing—it was more a matter of rinsing off a few crumbs. Believe me, a lot more effort went into making the cookies than washing the plate. Your baked goods are always so yummy.”

Ellen closed the door, took the plate, then led Treena to the living room where she invited her to take a seat. “Speaking of yummy,” she said as she continued into the kitchen with the dish, “your Jax is very attractive.”

Delicate color bloomed in Treena's cheeks. “Well, I don't know if he's
my
Jax, but he really is a treat for the eyes, isn't he?” She collapsed gracefully onto the chintz divan. “I can't figure out why that is, exactly. It's not like he's movie-star handsome or anything. Taken one by one, his features are fairly average, but there's just something about the total package. It's largely his attitude, I think—the cool assertiveness, the confidence.
Combine that with the features that are outstanding: that great body, the nice hair and those truly gorgeous eyes—” she flashed a sleepy smile “—and ‘yummy' is an excellent word.”

Then she collected herself and straightened up on the couch. “But back to the cookie plate,” she said briskly, nodding at it in Ellen's hand as she was about to set it atop the stack in the cupboard. “You do know, don't you, that I'm not the one who actually washed it. You must have noticed Mack doing the dishes.”

Ellen released the plate faster than she'd shake loose a rabid toad. Luckily it was close enough to the stack that it only rattled a little. “Don't speak to me of that man. He said I dress like a
crow.
”

“Yeah, that was pretty low. You shut him up pretty fast, though, when you informed him Heckle and Jeckyl were magpies.”

Yes, she had. She noticed, however, that Treena wasn't exactly jumping in to defend her style. “Do
you
think my clothes are drab?”

“I think they're…elegant. And, um, classic.”

“But drab,” she insisted, realizing to whom she was speaking. She walked over to the couch. “Of course you do—you love color. In fact, you're pretty much the queen of color.”

Amusement deepened the ironic tilt of Treena's lips, scoring a tiny groove in her cheek next to the corner of her mouth. “I suppose I am. And okay, I admit I'd like to see you in more than your usual blacks and earth tones. But it's not like I'd want you to quit wearing those.” She reached for Ellen's hand, urging her with her soft grip to sit next to her on the sofa.

She complied, and Treena's eyes held a gentle smile in their honey-brown depths as they studied her. “There's no need to change your basic style,” she reiterated. “Because it is definitely you: elegant and sort of posh. But a discreet use of color would really accentuate your classical pieces, with the added bonus of supplementing the outfits you already have. You've got such lovely skin and that dramatic salt-and-pepper hair. And hazel eyes offer so many color combinations that it opens up all sorts of possibilities for accessorizing. A lavender tank top or blouse, for instance, would look great with most of your shorts, as well as with your dark suits. So would a soft coral. And sea-foam green, or sage, or an old gold like my living room walls would bring out your eyes.”

The younger woman suddenly sat upright. “Oh! I have a brilliant idea.” She jiggled Ellen's hand as her cheeks flushed with enthusiasm. “Tomorrow Carly and I have a mutual day off. I have studio time booked in the morning, but then we're going shopping. Come with us.”

Ellen pulled back slightly. “Oh, darling, thank you for the offer. But I don't think so.”

“Why not?”

“Well—” she waved a hand at the dancer “—look at you. Then look at me. Not only am I old enough to be your mother, we have totally different body types. Not to mention that our sartorial choices are polar opposites. I doubt we shop at the same stores.”

Treena laughed, and it was so deep and infectious that Ellen couldn't help but smile in return.

“We aren't going to Spandex R Us,” the redhead
said. “Come with us. I bet we can find you a few pieces that will satisfy all our tastes.” She gave Ellen's leg a poke. “Unless…you got a hot date?”

She smiled. “No.”

“Then what have you got to lose? At the very least you'll have a few laughs with us.”

“Yes, that's something I'm definitely guaranteed with you and Carly. But shop for bright clothing? Winston would roll in his grave.”

“Why, was he a big fan of funeral weeds?”

For some reason when Treena poked fun at her colorless wardrobe, it struck her as funny, and a burble of laughter rolled up her throat. It was nothing like the way she felt when that testosterone-laden, socially challenged Brody man did the same thing. “He was, yes. Winston truly believed black was
the
classic color—that one could never go wrong with it.”

“What a fun guy,” Treena said drily.

A smile curled Ellen's lips as a host of memories flashed across her mind. “Oh, he had his moments.”

Her friend grimaced. “I'm sure he did, and it was insensitive of me to imply otherwise about a man I never even met. I just think unrelenting black is kind of, well, dull, and it's time we glammed you up a bit. C'mon,” she urged. “If not for me, then think of how bent out of shape it will make Mack.”

She'd been wavering, but Brody's name made her snap erect. “You think I want to give that rude man the satisfaction of thinking anything he said drove me to change my style?”

“Oh, trust me, Mack's got such a lust on for you that if you flash a little color, maybe a hint of cleavage at
him, he'll be lucky if he has a functioning brain cell left to ask if anyone got the number of the train that hit him.” She laughed, deep and bawdy, as if someone had just told her a deliciously dirty joke. “I'm betting it'll be all he can do to remember his own name, let alone that anything he said may or may not have instigated a couple of changes in your wardrobe.”

A lust on? Treena was mistaken. Ellen smiled wryly. Ah, to be at an age again where everything boiled down to sex.

Nevertheless, her heart picked up its beat, and feeling suddenly, inexplicably lighter than she had in quite some time, she said slowly, “Well, I suppose it wouldn't hurt to pick up one or two colorful pieces. Not that I care what that old goat thinks,” she hastened to add. Okay, that was a big fat lie, but she refused to regret it—let alone take it back—for she didn't see the point of making herself look foolish in her young friend's eyes.

“Of course you don't,” Treena agreed. “You're doing this strictly to give yourself a lift. If Mack has a problem with black, let him get himself a hot pink shirt.”

“Yes,” she agreed fervently.

“So, we're in accord, right?” Treena climbed to her feet. “I'll call Carly and let her know you're coming with us. I think, in the interests of time and to avoid having to deal with too many cars, I'll just take the bus to the studio. Carly already said she'd drive, so you two can pick me up at ten-thirty.” She strode for the door. “Oh, this is going to be fun. Wear comfortable shoes. We're gonna shop till we drop.”

And before Ellen could have second thoughts and perhaps recant her decision, her friend had breezed out the door.

 

T
REENA WAS LESS
than thrilled to arrive at the studio the following morning and discover Julie-Ann there, but after exchanging curt nods they staked out opposite ends of the long narrow room and quite effectively ignored each other. She found the younger woman's choice of music obnoxious, but Julie-Ann had gotten there before her, and the unwritten rule in these situations always favored the first to arrive.

With anyone else Treena would have hammered out a musical compromise, but she didn't even try with the young dancer. This was her final day off and she had zero desire to start it off with a pissing match. So she let it go with a mental reminder to bring her Walkman next time.

Within moments, she was so deep into the practice session, she barely even remembered that the other dancer was there. She ran through one series of steps after another, constantly changing combinations and monitoring herself closely in the mirror. By the time Carly and Ellen arrived she was fairly satisfied with the morning's session. She completed her final set, picked up her towel and, dabbing the sheen of sweat from her face and chest, walked over to join her friends, smiling at the physical disparity between them.

Carly easily exceeded six feet in her high heels, and her spiky blond hair made her look like some Valkyrie warrior goddess—an image that was enhanced by the hammered gold bracelet circling her upper arm. Cream-colored sharkskin slacks and an electric blue halter top clung to her lush curves. Next to her Ellen was a petite, elegant sprite in a black silk suit and sensible pumps.

The elegant sprite broke into applause and smiled radiantly at her. “I know you're a dancer, of course,” she
said. “But I tend to forget from day to day exactly how much talent that encompasses. It is
such
a joy to watch you in action.”

“Good improvement on your high kicks,” Carly agreed.

Ellen beamed. “It's been a long time since I've watched the two of you dance together. I'm definitely going to attend your show again soon.”

“Why wait?” Carly said. “We'll give you a little demonstration right now.”

“In your street clothes, dear? I couldn't ask that.”

“It's no biggie.” Carly kicked off her shoes and unzipped her pants, peeling them off. She handed them to Ellen, who looked as if she couldn't decide whether to be horrified or fascinated by the younger woman's total lack of self-consciousness as Carly stood easily before her in nothing more than a pair of panties and a tight top.

“I'm going to take a wild stab here and guess you don't control the music today,” Carly said in a low voice to Treena as she stepped back into her heels. Then raising her voice, she said, “Julie-Ann! Can we borrow the stereo system for one song?”

“Certainly,” Julie-Ann said with such saccharine good will it made Treena's teeth ache. She came over to join them as Carly headed across the room to select music. “Hello,” she said to Ellen and stuck her hand out. “I'm Julie-Ann. I'm the captain of Carly and Treena's dance troupe.”

Treena was saved from having to make polite, insincere conversation when the intro to one of their regular show numbers began. Excusing herself, she met Carly out on the floor. They turned as one to face Ellen—just
in time to hear Julie-Ann say, “I'll just go join them. Then you'll really have a treat.”

Shit.

Before the young woman could make good on her intention, however, Ellen put a hand on her arm. “No, keep me company, dear. You can explain what the steps are as the girls do them.”

“I can't decide,” Carly muttered. “Which is worse, do you think, having Julie-Ann join us or having her critique our performance to Ellen?”

Treena shrugged but said under her breath, “I'd rather have her bad-mouthing us to Ellen, who thinks we're great unconditionally, than up here showing us up with her perky-ass high kicks.” Raising her voice again, she called, “Restart the music, will you Julie-Ann? We'll take it from the top.”

The younger woman shot her a venomous look, but crossed to the stereo.

On the downbeat they launched into the routine, and for a few shining moments Treena recaptured the joy that dancing had given her before her eleven-month hiatus had turned everything she'd taken for granted into such a struggle. Ellen was an enthusiastic, uncritical audience who made her want to deliver her very best, and dancing with Carly was always fun. From their very first audition together, she and Carly had connected not only on a personal level but on a professional one, as well. It was as if each could predict the other's next move before she even made it, and they flowed through the number now in perfect unison. When they brought it to a conclusion with splits on the floor, their hands flung the
atrically overhead, Treena felt a twinge of regret that it was over.