by Cat Porter
“I suppose it is for Meager,” I replied.
She admired a corset and matching robe on an antique mannequin torso dress form. “I’ve never seen anything like it.” She eyed the colorful hanging gauzy material I had decorated the store with to create a sensual and out of the ordinary ambiance. “And I’m from Milwaukee, meaning a big city, not from around here.”
“What brought you here?”
“Work. I manage the Tingle, the adult entertainment club in town.”
I’d heard that the Tingle was owned by the One-Eyed Jacks.
“I hear it does very well,” I said. “Good for you.”
“Thank you, yes, business is good.” She smiled again, her beautiful face beaming a genuine sincerity that warmed my insides. “I’m Cassandra, by the way.”
“Good to meet you, Cassandra. I’m Lenore.”
“You just opened, right? How’s business so far?” Her fingers slid up and down a diaphanous purple robe.
“Like you said, I’m a novelty. They come in to gawk at my goodies and at me.”
She turned, her light brown eyes finding mine. “When I first got here, I was a novelty too, but the people in this town are welcoming, maybe a bit reserved at first. In this store, you’re offering something brand new, something they really want deep inside. Temptation on the edge of illicit.” She let out a small, rich laugh.
“I like the way you think.”
“I like your style.”
I like this woman.
Cassandra tried on a variety of bras and nighties. She bought my most elegant push up bra and panty set made of burnt gold lace which looked incredible on her sleek cocoa skin. She took a handful of my business cards. “I’m going to pass these out to the girls at the club and a few friends.”
“I custom make pieces too. I can go as demure or as kinky as a client likes.”
“Always good.” She took her shopping bag from me. “I enjoyed this. We should get together for a drink sometime.”
“I’d love that.” I walked her to the door.
The next day, a platinum blonde around my age, wearing huge black sunglasses and pale lip gloss strode in. She glittered. Standing in the center of my shop, she slid her glasses up over her head and scanned every piece in the boutique, every panty, every bra, every corset, robe, baby doll, every sex toy. I kept on trend. A consumer demand for erotica was blossoming for a variety of items that once could only be found in sleazy sex shops or catalogs.
“Hi there,” I said.
She scanned me from the top of my blue and purple dyed hair, down my form fitting cropped top and low slung harem pants to my high-heeled sandals. “Tell me you’re Lenore.”
“I am.”
“I’m Alicia.”
“Welcome.”
“I’m pinching myself here. I’ve been waiting for you to open.”
“I’ve been open for about a month now.”
“I’ve been out of town for a few weeks. My mom had cataract surgery. She lives in Texas.”
“Oh. She okay?”
“She’s fine.” Alicia swished her long, straight, blonde hair as she moved by the table littered with colorful wisps of panties, the stands with bras dangling from them like overgrown blossoms. “Cassandra called me last night and told me how special your store is. I had to come see for myself.”
“Are you looking for anything in particular? If you’d like to try anything on, please do.”
She fingered a bustier, checked the label. “You made this?”
“I did. My design.”
Her blue eyes lit up. “I want to try them all on.”
She did.
Two hours and two cups of mint tea later, Alicia bought a bralette, a bustier, and a slip nightie. She paid in cash. “I’ll be bringing my girlfriends here.”
“Thank you.”
“I like your tattoos, by the way. Did you get them done around here?”
“A couple of them, yes. I went to Ronny’s in Deadwood. Do you know him?”
“Oh, did you?” She grinned, a well groomed eyebrow lifting. The Cheshire cat would have been proud. “Ronny is the best. He did mine. He does all of ours.”
“Your family?”
“Yeah, the club.”
“Ah.”
Was Alicia a One-Eyed Jacks old lady? Meager was their home base. I’d seen them around town on occasion, of course, but I hadn’t met any. They weren’t a huge multinational institution like the Smoking Guns or the Flames of Hell. Only three chapters from what I’d heard, and not as over the edge outlaw either, although that was relative, of course. They were definitely less ostentatious, more low-key.
Their clubhouse was on the outskirts of town, tucked behind a small patch of woods and a rise of the Black Hills. I didn’t feel antsy about being in the same area as a bike club anymore. Med was dead and gone. I’d read about it in a newspaper article a while back. His throat had been slit, his body found in a motel dumpster. Whoever had done it had wanted his corpse to be found and for the good news to be known far and wide. Had it been Finger? Had he been the Reaper, or had Med just pissed off the wrong person at long last, a person who would lash back? Whoever it was, the knowledge had me sleeping better at night.
Alicia snapped her oversized leather handbag shut. “I’m the president’s old lady.”
President’s old lady. I gritted my teeth at the sound of that phrase. Alicia loved her position, her title. “Well, it was great to meet you, Alicia.”
“You too, hon. I’ll be back with the rest of the girls to show them what you’ve got.”
I handed her the purple shopping bag with her purchases which I’d wrapped in lilac colored tissue paper. “Look forward to it.”
Alicia was true to her word. She came back two days later with Mary Lynn, Dee, and Suzy, all One-Eyed Jack old ladies. They oohed and ahed, tried on plenty of items and purchased a number of them.
“I need these velvet cuffs in my life,” Dee said, adding them to her bra and panty set by my cash register. “I love surprising Judge whenever possible.”
“That’s the way. Good for you,” I said, ringing up her purchases.
Alicia and her friends became frequent visitors. They often came by the store for tea and a laugh. We went out frequently for ladies only get togethers at the local bar, Pete’s Tavern, and for terrific meals and wine at the restaurant of the newly opened vineyard in nearby Hill City, which I always enjoyed.
Potential customers began to come into the store more regularly. At first they treated the shop like a museum, then I’d invite them to sit on my lemon yellow sofa and share a cup of tea with me and a chat. Soon enough, I noticed the change come over the ladies when they’d spot pieces they liked. The initial moments of denial would fade, and then there was—“Maybe I can be this.” Then they’d try a piece on and that look of “oh wow, I feel good in this. I could rock this. Yes, yes, dammit, yes.”
I enjoyed those moments myself, and I loved providing that speedy joy for others. Like beautiful frosting on a cupcake that you want to admire yet lick into at the very same time. A secret, often sinful treat that gave you a lift, that changed your perception of you. That beauty and joy all started on the inside, as far as I was concerned.
I wanted women to feel beautiful in their skin when they saw and felt their bodies being adorned by these webs of color and texture. Sleek or flowing, graceful or edgy, every piece came from my imagination. Like what the tattoos on my body did for me, I wanted to provide women with possibilities for their unique beauty and sensuality, and for them to revel in that glory. A glory they usually weren’t in touch with, had little or no awareness of, or simply denied. The bulk of my inventory quickly became lingerie. “Lenore’s Lace” had come into its own.
Cassandra encouraged me to advertise, and I came up with a marketing idea—another step in my
liberation and transformation. I hired a photographer, who Ronny suggested, and had him take sexy shots of me wearing my pieces. We shot one day in my store, and another out in the woods with the autumn leaves as an amazing backdrop. It was freezing cold, but so worth it.
“I love them!” Mary Lynn said over coffee at the Meager Grand Cafe down the block. She shuffled through the proofs I’d brought with me to show everyone. “You are quite the wildcat—look at this one, you guys, prowling through the forest on all fours hunting down her man.”
Cassandra laughed. “Damn, look at that. Roar, baby.”
Alicia took off her reading glasses. “Why didn’t you show that beautiful face of yours in any of these? It’s a crime to keep your face hidden in every shot. My God, your eyes, woman! Your ass is certainly a holy gift, don’t get me wrong, and your legs, your back, but—”
“Right? What workout do you do? I need to know,” said Dee.
“I’ve been doing yoga for years.” I jumped on Dee’s question, avoiding Alicia’s. “But I really like the Cardio Pump and Burn class Craig teaches at his studio down the street. Being a former stuntman, he totally knows what he’s doing.”
“Ugh, I’m too chicken to take that class,” said Dee.
“No thanks. Pilates and running for me,” murmured Cassandra.
“We have a treadmill in the garage, but I keep forgetting to use it. Kicker loves reminding me that I was the one who insisted we spend the money on it.” Mary Lynn rolled her eyes.
“Why don’t you tag along with me and try Craig’s class, Dee? You’re going to feel on top of the world after, I promise,” I said, sipping my double espresso with a hit of cream.
“Okay, you’re on,” said Dee.
“How can you not have a man, for Pete’s sake?” asked Mary Lynn. “You must be fighting them off.”
“We can introduce you to a few men,” Dee said.
“That’s all right. Really,” I replied.
“You don’t like bikers?” Dee laughed. “Golly, why?”
“I had a biker boyfriend once,” I said. “First love. Didn’t end well.”
“Really? Which club?” asked Mary Lynn.
I ignored Mary Lynn’s question. “I was sixteen, ran away from home with him, lots of fun, lots of trouble, then he took off with someone else.”
“What a jerk, sorry,” said Dee.
I shrugged. “Real life.”
Alicia studied me, her fingers stroking the handle of her coffee mug. I averted my gaze and focused on Mary Lynn’s lively chatter.
“Well, that’s all right,” Mary Lynn said. “We know tattoo artists, rodeo cowboys, bartenders, restaurant owners, a doctor, lawyers, a beer brewer, a landscape designer...” Her eyes danced. She was on a roll.
“I appreciate it, but don’t worry about me. I’m not a nun or anything,” I said.
“Oooo…Names,” said Mary Lynn on a giggle.
“I’ve been out with Caleb from Ronny’s shop a few times,” I said.
Dee blinked. “Whoa, really?
“Caleb?” Cassandra said.
“Uh oh. Why?” I asked.
“Everyone tries to score with Caleb, and very few have achieved the dream,” said Mary Lynn.
“I didn’t realize,” I said.
“Fuck,” Alicia muttered. “He’s so damn hot.”
“He sure is,” I said, winking at her.
Her lips parted, but she had no comeback.
“That hair…those biceps…” Mary Lynn murmured.
“That ass!” Dee laughed loudly.
“I think we need another round of coffee.” Cassandra grinned.
“Lenore, you should come to the barbecue we’re having at the club in a couple of weeks,” said Dee.
“Yes, you should,” said Alicia.
I swirled the last of my coffee in the mug. “I don’t know.”
“It’ll just be our chapter, families only. Nothing too crazy,” said Dee.
Mary Lynn rolled her eyes. “Yeah, never is.”
I liked these women. I liked them a lot. I didn’t have many friends here in town. A number of casual acquaintances, but not real friends. However, I didn’t want to go to a club party, family style or no.
“That’s real sweet of you guys.”
I would come up with of some sort of plausible last minute excuse and not go.
That’s what I did best.
Over four years had passed, and I had settled into Meager very nicely. I enjoyed the quiet. I was designing and creating at my own pace, paying my bills, and had made good friends. Social media was beginning to explode, and I took advantage, bettering my business online.
One afternoon Alicia came to the store with a friend I hadn’t met before. “Lenore, this is Grace.” Alicia removed her sunglasses, gesturing at Grace who stood stiffly at her side. “She’s an old friend from the club who’s back in town. She needs a pick me up, and I’m treating her today.”
Tania’s best friend, the Grace I’d been hearing about for years and years, the woman whose heartbreak had been emotional signposts along my own path.
A slight smile passed over Grace’s slim face. She was tired. Her clouded hazel eyes shifted around the store, taking in the swags of multicolored gossamer fabric that flowed down from the walls, the large piece of handmade stained glass hanging in the front window which filled the boutique with jewel-colored light.
“What a beautiful store,” she murmured.
“Thank you.”
I assessed her figure and quickly pulled pieces for her to try on, and she did so quietly. Alicia kept chattering though, more than usual. She pointed out a few kinkier pieces for Grace to try, but Grace refused. In fact, she didn’t say much at all, but Alicia took no mind.
Something was off.
Grace decided on a few items, and Alicia paid for them. Grace thanked me, taking the shopping bag I handed her, and quickly exited the store. She went out to Alicia’s car which was being commandeered by two One-Eyed Jacks.
“Grace came back to town recently. It’s been sixteen years since she’s been home,” Alicia said, shoving her designer wallet back in her large handbag. “Her sister’s been battling lung cancer, and she’s real upset. We just came back from the hospital in Rapid, and I thought I’d cheer her up by stopping here.”
I glanced out the front window. Grace was talking on her cell phone, her body stiff.
“You’re a good friend, Alicia,” I said.
We moved to the doorway, Alicia telling me she wanted to organize a night out with me and Grace and the ladies, but movement on the sidewalk caught my attention. Bear, the heavy set biker in the front passenger seat, snapped out of Alicia’s Cherokee, a hand on Grace’s arm and guided her into the vehicle’s backseat. He darted towards us, his bro in the driver’s seat talking on his phone.
“Alicia, we gotta move. We got to get Grace and her nephew to the hospital right now. Shit looks bad.”
“Oh dammit,” murmured Alicia.
“Go, honey,” I said. “Let me know.”
Alicia waved absently at me as she rushed towards her car and got in. In the seat next to her, Grace only stared straight ahead. She was numb. More tragedy for this woman. Always more tragedy.
Grace’s sister died the next day, and the club gathered for the funeral and burial at the town cemetery within the week. Alicia told me that Ruby had been a part of the club in the old days. She’d gotten over a drug addiction and went on to become a drug counselor, a wife and a mother to a young son. My heart ached for Ruby, for her boy who would grow up without her. So much inexplicable loss. Alicia mentioned Grace would stay in South Dakota now and help her brother-in-law raise him.
Within a few months, the gloom of this tragedy was unplugged by the good news that Grace was getting married. She was with Lock now, the Road Captain
of the One-Eyed Jacks, an austerely handsome and quiet Native American. An unexpected second chance, a new bright future. What more could anyone want?
What more, indeed.
One cold winter afternoon, I walked a customer to the front door, when I saw Grace leaving Pepper’s Boot Shop down the street with a huge shopping bag in her hand, a wide grin splitting her face. Her light brown waves shook over her thick leather coat as she moved quickly into the Meager Grand Cafe. The need to talk to her overwhelmed me. I flipped the “Be right back” sign on the front door and locked up my store.
I found her settling into a small table in front of the big bay window of the cafe, a steaming mug of frothy coffee in front of her.
“Grace, hi.”
“Hey, Lenore, how are you?”
“Could I sit with you a sec?”
She sat up in the sofa. “Of course. Please.”
“I heard about your engagement to Lock, and I wanted to say congratulations.”
“Oh, thank you. We’re really excited. It’s happening fast, but when you know, you know.”
My breath hitched suddenly, a coil of emotion taking me by surprise. “Absolutely.”
Her head slanted a few degrees as she sipped her coffee. Had she heard the thickness in my voice?
I cleared my throat. “I don’t know what you have planned for a dress and all, but I’d love to make you something special for your wedding.”
“Lenore, that’s so sweet of you. You don’t have to—”
“Oh, I do. Please. I want to. I’d love to make your special day even more special.” I took in a quick breath and steadied myself. “I love that you’re getting your happily ever after. I really do.” I struggled to maintain a grin, but my wobbly lips gave me away.
“Yeah, me too. Me too.” She reached out and grabbed my hand. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah.” I rolled my eyes, sniffing in air. “No. It doesn’t matter.”
“It does,” she whispered, placing her other hand over mine. “It does to me.”
A sense of calm came over me, looking in her eyes, feeling her strong grip on my hands. Grace Quillen was a good soul.