The Lingerie Designer

by Siobhán McKenna

  JD looked up with dewy eyes.

  “Besides, I’m not alone. I’ve got JD here to keep me company.” Truth was, the Hare Krishna drums were still ringing in her ears and Helen just felt like canine company this evening. She lowered her leg to rub JD’s soft blonde belly with her bare foot. She giggled as his hair tickled her toes. The movement caused her dressing gown to fall away from her body. And then she saw it.

  Panic-stricken, she choked, “Oh my dear God!”

  “Helen? Helen – is everything okay?”

  “Noooooooo!” she wailed.

  “What’s wrong? What’s happened –”

  “Granny pubes, that’s what!” Helen sobbed. If she could see the tiny grey hair in the muted lighting of her living room, imagine how it’d look in stark bathroom lighting!

  “What the hell are you on about?”

  “My black box isn’t looking so black any more, that’s what. It’s more a paler shade of grey.” Helen’s voice quivered.

  “Please tell me you aren’t examining your crotch while on the phone to me.”

  “This is serious, Poppy. Have you ever heard of a pilot’s voice on the grey box? Do they search for the grey box? No, that’s because everyone’s only interested in the black box.”

  “You haven’t answered my question and since when were you interested in pilots? I thought after that last one you met you said they were more interested in their throttle than the box, no matter what colour it is.”

  “No, I didn’t. What I said was, some of them mistake their penis for their throttle, or whatever that thing they pull for lift-off is!”

  “Take-off, you mean, unless you’ve bonked an astronaut and neglected to tell me that as well?”

  “A cowboy, maybe – fly-by-nights, definitely – astronauts, no – I’ve never heard that line on the chat-up circuit. Listen, I’ve got to go, I’ve just the thing for such an emergency.” Helen was on the move.

  “If that’s your idea of an emergency, remind me never to call you in a crisis,” Poppy said, hearing Helen running up the stairs. “Do you remember that time in New York, and the Irish President was in town? Those Secret Service guys gave us their cards. Do you still have them? Secret Service is nearly as good as an astronaut. I wonder were we considered a threat to national security after we rumbled them?” Poppy rambled on, to sounds of Helen ransacking her house. “That was a great night. Pre 9/11 mind. Probably wouldn’t happen these days.” Poppy sighed at the memory and wondered should she hang up.

  “It’s in here somewhere,” Helen mumbled. “Here we go . . . The Black Betty!”

  “Black Betty?”

  “Yep, I was going to go for The Pink Betty, but it reminded me of that Sex and the City episode where Samantha ended up looking like Bozo the Clown.”

  “Right.” Poppy was often in bed by watershed time and only recently, thanks to Lily’s protests, claiming she was a disadvantaged teen due to lack of Reality TV, had she succumbed and installed cable. Of course she’d heard of the programme, but she still had no idea what Helen was talking about.

  Hiding her annoyance at her satellite-inept friend, Helen elaborated. “The last time I was in getting my Brazilian wax, they had this hair-dye stuff on sale at reception, called The Betty.”

  “I’m nearly afraid to ask . . .?”

  “Well, it’s especially formulated for the hair-down-there. Red for a heart-shape, pink for, em, I don’t know, maybe a fluffy box. They even had duck-egg blue for a Tiffany box. I was tempted by all of them, but then, as I said, memories of that Sex and the City episode come back to haunt me, so I decided to play it safe.”

  “But why didn’t you go for blonde? To match your hair? Why black? I don’t know why –”

  “Okay, so they were out of stock of Blonde Betty! And to be honest, it’s hard enough keeping up with highlights on my head, never mind anywhere else!”

  “But black – when you’re blonde –”

  “Oh, shut up, Poppy! I’d noticed a grey hair down there – I plucked it out of course but I bought the stuff just in case. Do you think I got more greys because I plucked one out? I seem to remember an old-wives’ tale: if you pluck one grey hair, seven grow back in its place.” Helen was getting worried as she remembered she had actually plucked three hairs.

  “Helen, you’re an intelligent woman, well, at least you are most of the time, and that’s nonsense. But I’m sorry to tell you – you’ve brought this upon yourself.” Poppy sniffed.

  “How?”

  “You believed that you were going to go grey, so the Universe delivered. It’s the Law of Attraction: As the mind goes, energy flows.” Poppy was sounding rather smug.

  “How do I un-manifest what the Universe has manifested then, oh Wise One?”

  “Positive thoughts and meditation – but seeing as the grey is already there you may want to try your Betty-whatever in the meantime. Hang on . . .” There were muffled voices in the background as Poppy put her hand over the mouthpiece – then she was back. “Much as I’d love to stay and chat about your fanny, Helen, the Hare Krishna group have just invited me to join them for tofu and a cup of ginger tea. Saturday night with a difference – at least it solves the problem of drink driving – Dahlia can stay with me.”

  Helen was pleased to be off the hook.

  “Don’t forget about tomorrow, I’ll call you to make arrangements,” Poppy said.

  “What on earth now – can’t I even get Sunday off?”

  “Relax, it’s that mystic appointment we’ve waited so long to get.”

  “Appointment? What –”

  “I’ve room for one in my car!” Poppy shouted at the Hare Krishnas, who were trying to sort out drums, squeezeboxes and lifts.

  “Poppy, please don’t go joining a new group – dragging you out of a kibbutz once in this lifetime was enough.”

  “For God’s sake, I was eighteen and you’ll never let me hear the end of it, will you?” Poppy exhaled noisily.

  “No.” One of Helen’s favourite pastimes was winding Poppy up – she made it so easy to do.

  “Look on the bright side.” Poppy cheered up. “The psychic – he’ll be able to tell you if you’re sacked or not – save you an early-morning flight on Monday.”

  With that, Poppy hung up.

  Having lain down spread-eagled on a pile of old towels for thirty minutes, Helen hosed herself down with the shower nozzle. She looked in the mirror and admired her handiwork. The black box was back and it was blacker than she’d seen it in years. She was feeling warm and the familiar tingle of growing excitement ran through her body. She wasn’t sure if it was caused by the gushes of water, or the glass of wine she’d consumed. Or maybe Poppy was right and wherever you put your attention, energy flows. She’d been dying down below but now she could definitely feel the energy there.

  Then, even though she knew she shouldn’t, she reached for her phone and began to text.

  “Hi Rob, how r u? At home, bored. U got any exciting gossip r juicy bits 4 me?” It was an unashamed textual flirtation, with a man whose number she knew she should delete, along with their relationship. Within seconds, her phone bleeped.

  “I’ve got something big and juicy all right. Have u eaten? @”

  The “@” symbol at the end of the text was Rob’s way of sticking his tongue out at her.

  She smiled and typed, “I’m out of batteries.” She waited ten minutes before she pressed send, lest she appear too eager.

  Again, she received Rob’s reply by return: “Be there in twenty.”

  Chapter 24

  Rob pressed the bell next to Helen’s bright red-lacquered door. He ran his fingers through his thick dark hair. As he heard her footstep approaching, a shot of adrenaline hit him.

  “Hey, Rob!” Helen half-opened the door. He could just see her face, blonde waves falling loosely around it. Bee-stung lips, glossed, berry-red.

  Helen liked red.

  Anticipation replaced adrenaline. He couldn’t take his eyes
off her mouth – that was until he stepped inside and saw the rest of her.

  “Wow, you look great, Helen!” was all he could manage to say. She wore a tantalising black silk robe. Its low cut revealed smooth olive skin and the curve of her cleavage.

  “Pleased to see me?” Rob moved closer and nuzzled the side of her neck.

  Helen shivered as she felt his warm breath on her skin.

  “Come on, baby, let’s take this upstairs, I’m HD-Ready.” Rob whispered his usual catch-phase, comparing Helen’s initials to high-definition television.

  His words had an unexpected effect. Maybe she shouldn’t have texted Rob – she pulled away slightly.

  “Slow down there, soldier – what happened to pleasantries like ‘How are you?’”

  “We can do those later,” Rob muttered. With one arm, he pulled her towards him and swiftly entwined her in a tango-like move. Behind her now, he wrapped his arms around her waist – pressing his hardness against her.

  “I think it’s you who’s pleased to see me,” Helen giggled, weakening.

  “You smell so good,” Rob said, inhaling deeply. He moved a hand under her robe to caress her breast, the other he slid between her thighs.

  Desire replaced Helen’s fleeting attempt to have a conversation before sex – she turned her face to meet his, their kissing becoming more urgent as they explored each other’s bodies.

  Helen closed her eyes and allowed herself to be elevated to a place she believed only Rob could take her. He slipped off his jacket, placed it on the polished oak floor and lowered her onto it. She reached up, releasing his belt.

  Rob moved down her body. He knew every inch of her, what made her shudder – what made her tick. He lowered his mouth to her dark nipple and began flicking it with his tongue. She groaned as he began to suck. Licking his way down past her belly button until his head was between her legs, he spread them apart as he buried his face in what he called the origin of the universe.

  He felt her melt in his mouth as he listened to the sound of her shallow breath, his ability to seduce her making him even harder. He could feel her body tense and, as she climaxed, he thrust himself deep inside her, moving to her rhythm – their rhythm.

  They lay still, not saying anything, both waiting for their breathing to abate. Rob rolled off and lay beside her on the hall floor.

  Helen was glad the housekeeper had been yesterday.

  “Is that wine I see?” she said, as she propped herself up on one elbow.

  “Very astute – one white, one red – take your pick. Hey, doggie!” Rob jumped to his feet and pulled up his jeans as JD waddled over to him.

  “Hells, your dog was about to lick my butt.” Rob made a face. “Just as well you can’t talk, boy.” Rob tickled the dog under his chin. He sniffed his hand after rubbing JD and looked displeased. “Have you any anti-bacterial hand-wash in here?” he asked, as he headed for the downstairs loo.

  Helen looked at JD and raised her eyes to heaven. The dog turned and went back to his bed in the kitchen and watched her from there. The silent treatment. Who says dogs can’t talk? You just have to tune in to them, at the right frequency.

  Rob wasn’t one for pillow talk, but seeing as they hadn’t made it far past the front door, it wasn’t an option anyway. Helen knew it would be the same even if they had made it to the bedroom. Rob was expert at meeting her physical needs but emotionally he was a stranger.

  By the time he emerged from the toilet, Helen had changed from her seductress silken wear into a fluffy baby-blue robe with matching slippers which she wore to shuffle around the kitchen.

  “Excuse me – did you see where Helen went?” he said, his brow knitted in confusion.

  “What are you on about, Rob? Do you want red or white?” She held up both bottles of wine.

  “Helen, Helen? Is that you? I thought it was your long-estranged grandmother. I go to the jacks for five-minutes and my sexy vamp morphs into dowdy gramp!”

  “Very funny.”

  “I’ve got the car, so a Diet Coke will do me.”

  Helen busied herself with the corkscrew in an effort to simmer down the irritation that was bubbling.

  “You’re welcome to stay,” she said, trying to sound carefree. The familiar pattern emerged – friction replaced sexual tension, giving rise to a potential argument.

  Rob’s expression darkened. “You know I prefer my own bed – besides, I have to work in the morning.” He looked away, having laid the seed for his escape.

  “You’re working on a Sunday?” Helen’s voice was tight – she looked him in the eye. Damn! Why can’t you just let it go, Helen?

  “Yes, unfortunately. No rest for the wicked. I’m working on contracts for a merger between two multinationals. It’s worth a fortune in fees, so merits a few Sunday hours.” Rob’s eyes came to life again. “It’ll firmly place us on the map, as the top corporate law firm in the country.” He pushed both his hands deep into the front pockets of his jeans. “I can’t say too much, but you’ll be reading about it in the papers in the coming weeks.”

  “As long as it’s not Eden, or one of our competitors, I really don’t give a toss.” Helen wouldn’t look up at him, twisting the gold ring on her little finger instead.

  “Eden is small-fry by comparison. These are the big boys. Maybe I will have that glass of wine – it’s been a long week.” Rob leant against the kitchen counter, his ankles crossed and his body relaxed. He enjoyed talking about work, especially with someone outside of the office.

  “Did you see the season finale of 24?” She handed him his wine.

  “No, do you have it?” Rob’s night was getting better by the minute.

  It was Helen’s turn to act smug. “I bought the box-set in a market in Shanghai. I got you the entire James Bond collection too: every Bond movie ever made.” She quickly added, “It was really cheap, it would have been a shame to pass it up.”

  “Helen Devine, you are, without doubt, every man’s wet-dream.” Rob planted a kiss on her forehead. “Now, if you’d just agree to some girl-on-girl action, I’d die a happy man.”

  “Come on, Don Juan, grab the wine. I’ll get the popcorn. I’m not ready for you to die – just yet.”

  Rob drained the last drop of red wine into their glasses. They had polished off the bottle of white sometime earlier, neither noticing, engrossed in the heart-stopping action on the small screen.

  “Told you he was a baddie!” Helen declared when the credits rolled. It was one of their favourite pastimes – trying to out-guess each other in spotting the plot line or the secret villain.

  “I knew that,” Rob said, dismissing her comment.

  “Yeah, yeah.” Helen flicked the off button on the remote-control. The light in the room softened without the glare from the TV. Now, the only illumination came from a sandalwood candle and a small table-lamp. With a click of another control, low strains of New Age ambient music filled the air. Rob kicked back and sank deeper into the couch. He swirled his wine around the glass, lost in thought.

  “A penny for them,” Helen traced the tip of her forefinger along his temple.

  Not needing further encouragement, Rob talked about what he always talked about, his work, which Helen understood was his life. And that was okay. His face relaxed so much as he talked, he looked years younger. He loved what he did – she envied him. Her passion for Eden was waning, she couldn’t deny it. Previously, if she wasn’t working, she was talking about work. She ate, slept and breathed lingerie. She had always been on the lookout for fresh ideas and new designs, no matter where she was. It could be watching TV and she’d notice a subtle curve of a seam. Or in a restaurant, perhaps a colour would catch her eye. She kept a small sketchpad in her handbag at all times in case she saw something that she could translate into a new bestseller – she still did but it wasn’t as crammed with inspiration as before. Maybe if she could get back to being more of a designer and less of an administrator it would fan the flames of her creativity again. But
a niggling voice inside her told her it was more than that.

  They continued to talk into the night and at one point they retrieved Mary’s re-gifted bottle of caramel Baileys. Rob liked his over ice – Helen took hers straight up.

  “I don’t know how you drink it like that,” Rob said.

  “I don’t like ice any more – Poppy says it’s better to drink liquids warm or at least at room temperature. You’re a Pitta, that’s why you like the ice.”

  “Here we go!” Rob rolled his eyes. “Poppy and her mumbo-jumbo – no doubt Pitta is something bad – that woman hates me. How is the daft witch anyway?”

  “Rob! Don’t be so mean. Poppy doesn’t hate you – she just hates what you did to me.” Helen immediately regretted what she had said as the atmosphere in the room chilled. “Actually Pittas are great leaders and have a fiery passion.” She rubbed her foot along his groin and let it linger, but got little response.

  There was a silence, then he said, “So, what’s the story at Eden? Are you ready to fly the nest, start up your own business, rather than raking the money in for them?”

  “Don’t start at me, Rob. The company has been very good to me over the years. Besides, after last week’s Hong Kong trip, I’ll be lucky if I even have a job on Monday and you certainly didn’t help things with that Perfect Pussy prank of yours – I could have lost my job! Fred had a right go at me over that.” She flinched as she said Fred’s name.

  “What did he say?” Rob didn’t wait for a reply before continuing and so dismissing any retribution for his practical joke. “Legally, it’d be difficult for them to terminate your contract, based on the number of years you have been with them, unless you did something completely unethical. Did you? Embezzle funds? Supply the competitors with next season’s designs?”

  “Rejected the advances of the managing director?” Helen said, leaving out the bit about the kiss.

  “What, Fat Fred?” Rob burst into laughter. “Fred would never be able for a woman like you!” He had met Fred once, in London, during one of the brief on-again periods he and Helen shared. “Jesus, did he make a lunge for you? Between your tits and his belly you would have just bounced off each other.” He whooped loudly.