by Kiki Archer
“So what am I meant to wear to the gym?” Camila wasn’t budging.
“Not this!”
Tina was now up from the table, standing by Nigel’s side. “I bet you don’t even go to the gym.”
“I do Davina’s DVD at home.”
“And what do you wear?”
“Pyjamas mostly. But doesn’t that mean there’s a market for people like me?”
Nigel spoke again. “The over thirty-fives? Yes, we have dealings with Sainsbury’s. Mary Berry’s brought out a new ‘relax’ range.”
Camila’s gasp was loud. “For people gardening or bowling! I’ve seen that. That’s not for me!”
“Well this isn’t for you either.” Nigel snatched a pair of leggings and top from the table and waggled them as he pointed towards the door.
Camila continued. “All you’d need to do is lose some of the see-through meshing around the thighs. I get the idea that sportswear needs to breathe, but this is just gaping. Put it at the back of the knees or near the ankles if you have to, not that ankles breathe, but meshing’s obviously important to you. Then you need to make the waist band thicker for those of us who’ve had children.”
Nigel gasped. “You’ve had children?!” He turned to the men in the room. “Again, this explains so much. I’m so sorry, gentlemen, she isn’t your target market.”
“Hey I could wear this if I wanted to!” Camila took the clothing from Nigel.
Tina piped up. “You’re old, with children. Mesh-Up wouldn’t want you wearing their brand. That’s the whole point. They want it worn by young, cool, child-less women like us who share pictures of themselves looking hot so other people notice their brand.”
“They’re not going to be hot with all this meshing going on. It’s like wearing a large-gaped black doily and two minutes ago you thought I was the target audience.”
Tina folded her arms. “Put it on then.”
“No.”
“Why not? Because you’re old with children?”
“I still work out.”
“Put it on then.”
“Fine I will.”
Harriet watched open-mouthed as the woman on the other side of the mirror, who in actual fact looked more sexy and stylish than all the other women put together, returned to her seat before pulling off her trousers and pulling up the leggings. She watched on as the woman crouched in on herself, taking rather a long time untying what looked like quite a complex bow from around the neck of her shirt.
“Ta-dah!” announced Camila jumping up from her seat.
Tina pointed. “You’ve still got your bra on and I can see your stretch marks.”
“I’m a tiger who’s earned their stripes and guess what? I’m proud of them. But some women are more body conscious than I am; that’s why I suggested the thicker waistband that could be rolled up or down. Also, as you can see from my white bra under this black mesh, your top simply isn’t big enough. Anyone doing any actual exercise will be offering up two bouncing dumplings along with their sausage mesh legs if this is all the support they’ll be getting.”
“I don’t think you look too bad,” offered Dave.
“Nor me,” added Kevin.
Harriet looked through the window at Camila. She looked sensational. A pocket rocket of confidence. She wasn’t tall but she had a great figure and her brown hair that was secured in a loose-but-smart bun accentuated her pretty face and drew attention to her expressive eyes that showed off her soul as she spoke. Harriet smiled. The scene was one of the most naturally beautiful things she’d witnessed in a long time.
“You’re too old, sorry,” said Nigel, still pointing to the door. “Admittedly you don’t look it, but this is the eighteen to twenty-five age range focus group.”
“Surely I have some worth?”
“Not in here you don’t.”
“Right.” Camila walked back to her chair. “But just so you know, no one likes those pouting Instagram gym bunnies.” She stood still in the silence. “I’ll just get changed shall I?”
“Change in the ladies outside. We need to crack on.”
Harriet watched as the nearly naked woman who was currently being held together by black meshing gathered up her belongings from the floor. She turned to the men on her side of the mirror and nodded. “Gentlemen,” she said, “you’ll have to excuse me.”
****
Closing the door to room five and entering the corridor, Camila looked down on herself. Her white bra was screaming out through the black mesh holes in the top and there was so much flesh on show it was criminal, not to mention the fact that her new pussy bow tie was dragging along the floor behind her. She smiled. At least she’d still got it. That ability to make women like Tina jealous and men like Kevin take note. She glanced up in search of the toilets. “Harriet Imogen Pearson!” she gasped, taken aback by the sight of the impeccably dressed woman standing in front of her. “What are you doing here?!”
“Me?” said Harriet. “I was hoping to ask you the same question.”
Chapter Six
“You look absolutely incredible.”
Camila glanced over her shoulder to see who Harriet Imogen Pearson was talking to.
“You. Dressed in that Mesh-Up gear. You look incredible. I mean you’d look incredible without that Mesh-Up gear too.” The follow-up was quick. “Not naked of course. I didn’t mean naked. I meant in your suit, or a dress, or… or anything really.”
Camila glanced back once more.
“Forgive me, I’m Harriet.”
Returning her attention from the long corridor, Camila focused on the outstretched hand. Was Harriet Imogen Pearson holding that out for her? Well she couldn’t shake it as she was arms-full of pussy bow tie shirt, trousers, blazer and bag.
“Sorry, let me help you with that. I see you’re wearing your shoes.”
Staring down, Camila studied her black glittered court heels. When paired with her plain black trousers and blazer they’d added the pizazz her outfit had needed. Again there’d been a worry that plain shoes were too mime-artisty, but the sparkle had offered the jazz that was missing. Now, however, when paired with her see-though mesh leggings, she looked like a hooker. “Sorry, I need those back.” Camila nodded to her belongings now in Harriet’s hands.
“I’ll carry them. This way.”
Having no choice but to follow the brisk walk, Camila wrapped her arms around her bare stomach trying her best not to look too awkward. Unfortunately, such a quick pace required a balanced posture and her contortionist’s cover-up meant she had to walk with her head pushed forward to ensure the onward momentum: A bit like a child in a sports day sack race, bag clutched in on herself, top half of her body earnestly pushing on, about to topple any moment. She followed the fast feet. Where were they going? Would she shoot down this corridor like a glitzy black bullet exploding into the Mary Berry ‘relax’ range room? Surprise, grannies, I’m here!
“I think I should be in the Sainsbury’s group.”
Harriet Imogen Pearson suddenly halted her walk and spun round. “Don’t be so ridiculous.”
Camila couldn’t stop herself, her sack race game had been too strong. She head-butted Harriet’s shoulder like a bull’s strike on matador, her arms instinctively releasing their grip of her own stomach and wrapping instead around Harriet’s. “I’m sorry,” she said, quickly trying to pull away from the embrace, realising that Harriet’s arms had instinctively reached out to catch her and dropped all the clothes on the floor. “Sorry, could I just…” Camila tried to wriggle free once more.
“Right, sorry, there you go. Let me get those.”
Camila stood awkwardly, moving her arms to her chest before crossing them over her stomach as well, trying to cover as much flesh as possible, which inadvertently led to a plumped up cleavage as if she was deliberately squeezing her assets out on show.
Harriet was staring as she rose back up with the belongings.
Glancing away from the eyes, Camila focused on the fast m
oving woman behind Harriet’s shoulder who was marching down the corridor. Camila shuffled backwards. She expected the woman to stop and stare, or at least pass judgement, but the woman hurried on without comment.
“You’re nothing new,” said Harriet having followed Camila’s gaze. “Well obviously you are as I’ve not seen anything quite like you before and I didn’t mean it that way; I meant in this corridor, on this floor. She’d never have stared. Well she might have done if she’d noticed it was me, I’m not often in the building, but my point is we have all sorts going on: fancy dress costumes, toy testing, horror Halloween makeup and, like I said before, you look incredible, not that I’m comparing you to the horror Halloween makeup. Listen to me rattling on. You’d think it was me standing there half naked, if only I had your confidence, which is what I was saying, it’s so refreshing and empowering.” Harriet took a deep breath and paused to emphasise her words. “What I witnessed in there was one of the most beautiful things I’ve seen in a long time.”
Camila stared at the stunningly gorgeous woman standing in front of her. She’d not been in the room had she? No, of course not. She’d have noticed her and assigned her a name. Would she though, as she’d instantly have recognised her as Harriet Imogen Pearson, owner of H.I.P Marketing, and she did look like a Harriet. She had an air of composure about her, or the Harriet on TV did; this woman was either chatting in a frenzied manner or staring in silence as she was again now. Camila stared back. She could be a Meredith, or possibly an Evelyn; someone with stature. She wasn’t particularly tall, in fact Harriet was only slightly taller than she was, yet Harriet managed to hold herself in a way only certain women did. Well the Harriet on TV did; this woman was looser somehow and her gold-rimmed glasses, that gave her an air of importance on the big screen, suddenly looked like fashion frames designed to give stature as opposed to glasses worn because someone had stature, or needed them obviously.
“So I’m not in the Mary Berry group?” asked Camila finally.
“Good heavens, no! That’s why we stopped, wasn’t it? Sorry, I’ve rather ambushed you, haven’t I?” The pile of Camila’s gathered belongings were adjusted and the hand was sent out again. “I’m Harriet Imogen Pearson. I own the company.”
Camila shook the soft fingers. “I recognised you. Do you want me to help you with that?” She signalled to her own clothes now clumped under Harriet’s armpit.
“You did, didn’t you? Sorry I’m in a bit of a flap, I just want to get off this floor. You shouldn’t be on this floor.”
“Too old?”
“Goodness no, look at you. I had no clue you weren’t in the eighteen to twenty-five age range. They had no clue you weren’t in the eighteen to twenty-five age range, and while I do appreciate who Mesh-Up’s target market is there’s nothing to say you can’t wear their gear. You pull it off so well and the way you’re proud of your body is admirable. I wish I could show such confidence.”
Camila stared at the woman again. She was truly stunning, fashion glasses or not. She had glossy skin, glossy hair, full glossy lips, dark velvety eyelashes that enticed you through the gold frames into the dazzling blue eyes, and cheekbones that shimmered. Camila continued to stare. They were actually shimmering. It was as if Harriet Imogen Pearson had been filtered with the Wonder Woman snapchat filter, the one that gave you slightly bouffant, but perfectly styled dark hair. The only thing missing was the gold headband. Camila almost gasped. No! That was it, it was the gold rims of her glasses that made her look like Wonder Woman, as if her headband had slipped. But then again it was so much more than that; it was the whole shimmering package. “You’d look much better in it than me,” she managed to say.
“Goodness, no, I’m thirty-two.”
Camila laughed. “And I’m thirty-five!”
“I’m not sure if it’s that fact or something else that’s got me so lost for words!”
“This is you lost for words?”
Harriet paused. “Not the gabbling, obviously, I just mean…” She reached out to take Camila’s hand. “Come on, I want you in the lift.”
Camila let herself be led.
“I didn’t mean like that obviously,” said Harriet, releasing Camila’s hand and waving her forward instead.
Camila watched on as Harriet struggled to tuck the clothing under her arm with one hand, using the other to press the lift’s call button multiple times. “Like what?” she asked, moving to the side to avoid stepping on her own pussy bow tie neck that still dragged on the floor.
“Nothing. Get in. Up to floor five we go.”
****
Sitting on the chair opposite Harriet’s desk, Camila was thankful for the opportunity she’d had to change. A bathroom on floor five not far from Harriet’s office had given her chance to breathe and take stock. It was one thing being okay rumbling along for fifteen years from situation to situation, never quite knowing what was coming next, but this was something else entirely. This was surreal. It wasn’t surreal when you realised you’d left your breast pads at home, for example, and had to endure a shopping trip with two wet patches on show, a shopping trip where you happened to bump into everyone you’d ever met in your whole life. Situations like that were awkward and embarrassing and you just bumbled along. Similar to the time she’d been accosted by Michael’s PE teacher at his first parents’ evening at secondary school and been told her son had a body odour issue, only to panic that she’d not put on deodorant herself that day due to an ill-timed visit from the boiler man who’d turned off the hot water whilst trying to fix the fault and suddenly panicking that the PE Teacher would think it was a hereditary issue. Not to mention the fact she felt like an awful mother because she’d not realised her son could be at an age where body odour was a thing, which then sent her into a spiral of panic about where time was going. And while situations like those were all a bit blurred as you hazily battled your way through, you still knew they were happening.
This, however, sitting in Harriet Imogen Pearson’s office on day one of work, felt completely unreal. The office was similar to something you’d see on an interior design show, in fact she was sure she’d seen Harriet filmed here for something or other, sitting, as she was now, behind the huge reclaimed-wood desk flanked on either side by two Japanese Fruticosa trees, and she only knew they were Japanese Fruticosa trees because Julie had seen them advertised on the shopping channel and suggested they both get them for beside their front doors, which being next to each other would make them look like ten and eleven Downing Street. That’s what Julie had said anyway. The fact the shopping channel trees were artificial and only two-foot-tall didn’t seem to matter to Julie, it was the idea that topiary held stature.
Looking around at the office, Camila had to accept that topiary did indeed hold stature; well, Harriet’s topiary certainly did. Not only were the two tall trees either side of the desk real, there were two indoor topiary areas on the left and right hand sides of the room receiving light from two large lantern shaped roof windows so you entered the space like a bride about to walk down a rainforest aisle to the reclaimed-wood altar-desk at the front. That’s what she’d felt like anyway and was relieved to be back in her pussy bow tie shirt and blazer as the mesh leggings and top simply wouldn’t have cut it.
“This office. Be honest.”
Was Harriet Imogen Pearson talking to her? Yes, of course she was; there was no one else in the room and as surreal as this felt, it was actually happening.
“I see you looking around. I’d like your thoughts.”
Camila smiled. “It’s fantastic. It makes me feel like I’m outside. You have lots of natural light coming in from those roof windows and I love how they’re pitched up like lanterns adding even more height to the room. Your desk reminds me of the entrance to Narnia, for some reason, even though the trees are green. There’s something imposing, yet magical about it, whether it’s the runway to get here through the indoor planting I’m not sure, but this whole space is a cross between a garden cen
tre and a film set. I see you’ve got a drinks and seating area on the other side of the plants and a conference desk area on that side and I actually like the idea that you have to walk around the topiary to get there. It’s as if whatever you’re doing and wherever you’re going there’s a reminder that life’s out there.”
Harriet was smiling. “You’re just perfection.”
“Am I?”
“You’re absolutely perfect.”
“For what?”
“For me.” Harriet nodded. “For the business. But if I’m honest I was slightly unsure when you started that majorette routine with your phone torch.”
“You saw that? You were there? Where were you?”
“Behind the mirror.”
“You were standing behind the mirror?” Camila looked at the woman sitting behind the magical wooden desk in the magical botanical garden. Was she like David Blaine or something?
“There’s a viewing room next door. It’s a one-way mirror. You’ve done focus groups before?”
“Today’s my first day.”
“Didn’t Doug draft you in from the agency? Most of the focus group women are agency, but we like to keep them on the books for continuity.”
“Nope.”
“Who are you then?”
“Camila Moore.”
“And what are you doing here?”
“I’m not entirely sure.”
Harriet laughed. “This makes it even better.”
“It does?”
“Yes! The way you held court in there was wonderful. You picked up on the fact the brand was run by men. The parent company Work-Up caters solely for the male sportswear market and the idea to branch out into female gear is logical, but not with the same people in charge. I liked how you interacted with the other women, using the personal example of Ellie as to why the brand may have issues. You had absolutely no qualms in speaking your mind, which you continued to do outside of the room when talking to me. You made a joke about me being lost for words when I was rattling on. People never make jokes to me, or about me, especially when they’ve just met me.”