Almost Naked, Inc.

by Karen Anders

  Bridget met the clear aquamarine of the woman’s eyes, a smile turning up the corners of her mouth. She was with a stunning redhead who smiled at Bridget. Memories flooded back of the hectic pace of beauty pageants, the anything-for-the-crown mentality and the friends she’d made. Softly she said, “Well, if it isn’t the original Steel Magnolia, Betty Sue Dawkins.”

  “Fancy meeting you here. Looks like the highfalutin Bridget Cole has come home to roost. Come here, gal. I haven’t seen you in a month of Sundays.”

  Bridget hugged Betty Sue and then turned to Naomi. “Betty Sue, this is Naomi Carlyle, a friend from New York. Betty Sue and I were contestants in the Miss National pageant. She was first runner-up.”

  Betty Sue nodded, adjusting the thin strap of her designer purse over her shoulder.

  “What are you doing in Cambridge?” Bridget asked.

  “My husband, Harley, he teaches at Harvard. He’s older than dirt, but I love him,” she drawled, her eyes sparkling with humor. “Hey, if you have the time, sugah, why don’t you come on over to one of our BQU meetings?”

  “BQU?”

  “Beauty Queens Unite.”

  “What is your mission statement?” Bridget asked, giving Naomi a sidelong glance and a grin.

  “We solemnly swear to bitch and moan as long as possible on one subject for each meeting. One of our most likely subjects is men. In fact, Daphne here, she’s a former cheerleader or as we like to call her an Athletic Beauty Queen. Same diff. Anyhoo, the first time she comes to a meeting, I say, ‘Find you another one.’ Daphne says, ‘Excuse me?’ and I say, ‘I can see that you’re pining over a man. Not worth it. As my daddy always says, they’re a dime a dozen. Find you another one.’”

  All four women laughed and Bridget said, “Sounds like a great topic. Where do you meet?”

  “At my house. Right now we have about six Queens. There’s two actual Pageant Queens, me and a sweet little thang who got cut from the Miss National pageant. Never made it on TV, poor thang. Then there’s Daphne, of course. She’s our only Athletic Queen. Then we have a Mall Queen and, believe me, you will shop till you drop, or she’ll know the reason why. We have our own African Queen and she’s teaching all us tight asses how to walk with attitude. Last but not least a Drag Queen and he’s got great fashion and makeup tips. Makes for interesting meetings.”

  “I’d love to come. I’m sure it’ll be fun.”

  “Bring your friend along, she looks like she’s got a little Queen in her.”

  9

  “HEY, WHAT IS ALL THIS?” Naomi asked as she walked into the living room still dressed in her pj’s.

  “This is my brainstorm. We’re going to send out swatches to all the designers and the fabric buyers.” Bridget had been up since five, so excited about her plan of action she couldn’t sleep. She’d also felt completely guilty about the fact that Naomi had finished up the business plan alone yesterday. After shopping and her reunion with Betty Sue, she hadn’t been able to get her mind back to the boring details.Instead, she’d thought about how optimistic she’d been when she’d been crowned Miss National, all the attention she’d received and all the good she’d done while wearing the crown. Oh, the plans she’d had and she’d followed through on most of them. She had become a successful model.

  Now she wished she had paid more attention to saving for a rainy day instead of living the lavish New York lifestyle. If she had, she would have had something to fall back on when she’d lost her contract with Kathleen. That pesky hindsight.

  “That’s a great idea, but you should have asked me for help,” Naomi said.

  “You finished up the business plan because I was a whiner. I let you sleep in, but if you want to help, dig in.”

  “Let me go shower and change and I’ll be right down.”

  Bridget gave Naomi a thumbs-up sign. Naomi was a gem and Bridget was thankful that she had her. But as she looked around at all the work she’d accomplished that morning, she realized that she had invested herself in Matt’s business. It was now a matter of pride that she do the best job possible. Sure, she hadn’t been sure when she’d agreed to start up the business for him how much work would be involved. But now it was important for her to make this business a success. Not because it would make her look good, but because she cared so much about Matt.

  There was a knock on the front door and Bridget went to open it. Matt was standing on the threshold.

  “Hi, come in.”

  “Thanks,” he said. “I was wondering if you’d be interested in going to a gallery showing tonight of Sheila Bowden’s work. Maybe we could catch a bite to eat.”

  Bridget felt the warmth seep into her. “Are you asking me on a date, Dr. Fox?”

  He looked down and shuffled his feet. “I guess so. I really think you’d like the gallery.”

  She moved closer to him and he smiled, looking around. “Is your aunt gone?”

  “She’s at work, but Naomi’s upstairs,” Bridget said, unable to resist running her hands through his cute, spiky hair. The texture against her hand warmed her with anticipation and a fluttery desire. When her palm slid against the hot skin of his neck, he gasped and she lifted up slightly to reach his warm, sweet mouth.

  Unable to help herself, she deepened the kiss, her mouth insistent. He leaned into her just as helpless as she, meeting the press of her mouth. Matt abruptly pulled back when the water went off upstairs. “Too bad you’re not alone, but we’ll make up for that later.”

  At that husky promise in his voice, the tingly, fluttery warmth turned hard and taut, making her breath catch. “Come on, I’ve got something to show you.”

  She took his hand and drew him into the living room.

  “Damn.” He reached down and picked up one of Bridget’s white cards with samples of his fabric stapled to the front. The card had the content, fiber, care, cost per yard, item number and colors on it.

  “You’re really moving forward with this idea.”

  “You’ll get a good return on your investment, Matt. I promise.”

  “You’re really going back to New York.”

  The harsh sound of his voice spoke more than the simple words. He waited, oddly tense, for her answer.

  “Yes,” she said, stapling on three swatches of cloth to another piece of white index stock paper.

  “What if you can’t find a job?”

  When she saw the intensity in his eyes, her heart skipped a beat. She picked up the labels she’d printed out on her aunt’s computer and peeled one off. Setting it firmly below the swatches, she looked up at him, her chest tight. “I will. It’s just a matter of time.”

  “Have you thought about doing something else?”

  “Why do you keep pushing that, Matt? Modeling is what I do. Do you think it’s beneath me?”

  “It isn’t beneath you. I didn’t mean it that way.” He squatted down so that he was at her eye level. “I think that you should weigh all your options. What do you really want to do?”

  Denial burst inside her. She would go back to modeling. She would not fail. Oh damn, she couldn’t fail. If she did, she’d have to admit that all she had strived for all of her life had been for nothing. Meant nothing. She had nothing to show for all her years of hard work. “I’m not ready to accept defeat, Matt.”

  “I knew he was trying to talk you out of what is best for you.”

  Bridget and Matt turned toward the door. Bridget’s mother was standing there.

  “This is a private conversation,” Matt said coldly, rising from his crouched position.

  “What involves my daughter, involves me,” her mother said, eyeing Matt as if he was a dangerous enemy and Bridget supposed that, in her mother’s eyes, he was.

  Matt was not at all intimidated and Bridget remembered how he had stood up to bullies without fear when he’d been a child. His protective behavior touched something deep inside her and settled there, making her more than a little panicked. The dislike in her mother’s eyes was tangible, but Mat
t never even flinched. As they squared off, Bridget’s panic was replaced by a tangle of other emotions.

  He crossed his arms over his chest. “In case you haven’t noticed, Bridget’s a grown woman and can make her own choices.”

  Bridget sighed. He couldn’t have said anything truer. She needed to exert that control right now before they started a feud in earnest. She touched Matt’s arm to get his attention and to ease some of the tautness of his muscles. “That’s right, Matt,” she said pointedly, and he was smart enough to look sheepish. “I can make my own choices.” She turned to her mother. “Mom, to what do we owe the pleasure of your visit?”

  “I wanted to invite you to my Ladies Social Club gathering—a garden party.” She looked at Matt. “You can bring him if you want to, although I doubt he’ll enjoy it.”

  “I’m not sure that he’ll…”

  “I’ll go,” Matt said, the line of his jaw tense.

  “But, Matt…”

  “I said I’ll go. Just let me know when and where. I’ll talk to you later, Bridget. I should get to school. I meet with my lab staff on Friday.”

  Bridget rubbed the back of her neck. “I’ll call you to get the particulars for tonight. We’re still on, right?”

  He smiled and nodded. “Have a nice day, Mrs. Cole.”

  She harrumphed as he passed, but Matt didn’t rise to the bait.

  “What do you see in that man? I’ll never understand it. He thinks he’s so high and mighty because he has a college degree and a doctorate and you don’t.”

  “He does not, Mother.”

  “I think he looks down his academic nose at you, Bridget. You should really think about what would happen if he talks you into staying here and quitting modeling.”

  “What do you have against Matt, Mom?”

  “He’s just like your stepfather.”

  “Matt’s nothing like him.”

  “He isn’t? Has he invited you to any faculty functions or invited you to campus?”

  “No, but that doesn’t mean anything.”

  “Doesn’t it? I’ve lived with the disapproval of a man who thinks what I do is frivolous. I don’t want you to make the same mistake. Matt’s in academia. He doesn’t understand the world you live in.”

  “I know that we come from different worlds, but you’re wrong about Matt.”

  “I hope you don’t have to test that theory, Bridget.”

  “Don’t worry, Mom. I’ll make sure that your sacrifice means something.” The words were out of her mouth before Bridget could stifle them, a bitterness rising in her.

  Her mother’s face pinched into a disapproving frown. “Go ahead and mock me, but Cambridge is a dead end. New York is where you belong. I’ll see you at the garden party a week from Saturday at twelve-thirty sharp.”

  Her mother’s words stung and tears welled in Bridget’s eyes. She hadn’t realized that those words were in her. Had she been trying to live a life her mother wanted instead of her own life? Her breath caught as she groped for the chair and lowered herself into it. Her heart pounded in her chest, part of the adrenaline rush she got at the thought that maybe this wouldn’t have been the life she would have chosen for herself. Maybe she had been pushed and prodded and ordered into pageants and modeling had seemed like the most logical next step, but was it what she wanted?

  Bridget suddenly realized that she didn’t really know what it was she wanted. A dark void opened up inside her making her heart beat just that much faster. It was too scary to look into that void and try to create something to fill it. Of course she was on the right path. She’d been doing this since she was six for crying out loud. It had to be the right choice. If she quit now, she failed. She owed it to herself to make a second chance and go out a success. Maybe then she could think about what else might work for her.

  She squeezed her eyes shut, willing away the tears and the hard lump of emotion filling her throat.

  She took a deep breath, calming her nerves. Turning to look, Bridget knew she couldn’t get all this work done in one day, even with Naomi’s help. She walked into the hall and picked up her purse, digging inside for Betty Sue’s number.

  She had a fleeting thought that, in the past, she would never have reached out for help, but her friendship with Naomi had taught her that asking for help wasn’t the same as failing. Friendships were rich and powerful, full of sharing and kindness, and care. She decided that it was something she could very easily get accustomed to.

  She smiled as she dialed. The BQU would come to her rescue.

  And they came en masse, all six—five women and one very beautiful man. They pitched in while Naomi made coffee and supervised.

  The man, a drag queen named Danny, did three shows on Saturday in a club in Boston. He entertained them with imitations of Barbara Streisand and Liza Minnelli. Bridget had to clutch her stomach and try to breathe through the laughter.

  After about an hour of working, Danny said, “Bridget, honey. Where did you get that blouse? It’s just simply divine.” All the other BQU members nodded and exclaimed that they had to know where they could buy one.

  Bridget, stunned, replied, “You can’t buy it in a store. I made it out of the fabric you’re stapling to those cards.”

  “So what pattern did you use then? I’m a whiz at sewing,” Danny said.

  Feeling heat suffuse her face, Bridget, said, “I didn’t use a pattern. I designed it myself.”

  “Well, honey, you’re in the wrong business,” Danny said. “You shouldn’t be wearing the clothes. You should be designing them.”

  Bridget shook her head and laughed. “No. Not me. It’s just something I tried. It’s not that big a deal.”

  “Oh, honey. I’m here to tell you that you’d rake in the cash if you made more of those. In fact, could you make me one?”

  “I could make you one if you really like it. It’s the least I can do for all your help today. The fabric is so comfortable.”

  “That would be peachy, honey. Thanks.”

  MATT COULDN’T TAKE his gaze off the gorgeous, breathtaking woman walking down the stairs.

  She quite literally took his breath away.He’d expected her to look good. Bridget always looked good, but the shimmering, tight black dress she wore was stunning, combined with the artfully applied makeup that enhanced her blue eyes yet didn’t overwhelm her beautiful features. Her blond tresses were swept up into a soft, sensual style that showed off her neck, the line of her jaw and gave him access to plenty of bare flesh—from her shoulders all the way down to the base of her spine. Then there were those sexy black strappy heels she wore that made her stocking-clad legs look impossibly long and slender.

  But, as centerfold-seductive as she looked, it was the sweet, wholesome, down-to-earth woman beneath all the outer trappings who drew him the most, and always would. And as her gaze met his in the dimly lit interior of the hall, he felt his heart go into a free fall.

  He picked up her hand, those red polished nails of hers turning him on. “You are breathtaking.”

  Her beautiful mouth, tinted in a delicious glossy shade of honey, curved. “Thank you…for the compliment and the invitation. I’ve forgotten how much fun it is to play dress up.”

  Grinning, he stroked his thumb along the pulse in her wrist. “You’re welcome, for the compliment and the invitation.”

  Matt offered his arm and she giggled and took it. “Such a gentleman.”

  Her aunt poked her head out of the kitchen and said, “Have a good time, dear.”

  “Thanks,” Bridget replied as Naomi materialized beside her eating an apple. “Wow. You look fab. Those sandals are great with that dress.”

  “What are you going to do tonight? No work, I hope,” Bridget said.

  “Nope. I’m going to beat your aunt at gin. Isn’t that right, Ida?”

  “That’s Aunt Ida to you, upstart, and we’ll just see about that.” Her aunt winked at Bridget and Matt steered her out the door.

  Bridget stopped at the
curb and smiled. “You drove the coupe. There is a wild man in there somewhere. Admit it.”

  “I admit that the car drives like a dream and is addicting. Money is good for something.”

  “Nice to know that you’re affected by material things in life, Matt. Makes you more…”

  “Human.”

  “No, like the rest of us. Shallow.”

  “You’re not shallow, Bridget.”

  She gave him a sidelong glance as he opened the car door for her. “I was kidding.”

  “Oh.”

  After settling her in, he walked around the car and lowered himself into the driver’s seat. The thrill of the powerful engine under his control never ceased to excite him. “How did the swatch project go today?”

  “I got it done with help.”

  He turned his head briefly and noticed that one of the black straps of her dress had slid down her creamy shoulder. He braked at a light. Reaching over, he grasped the silky material and slid the strap ever so slowly back up.

  “Thank you.” Her sultry voice was laced with the same desire shining in her eyes.

  He let his fingers linger, tracing a path to the sensitive nape of her neck. He stroked his fingers along her throat and watched with pleasure as her breasts quivered and her nipples peaked against the fabric. Unable to help himself, he brushed his palm over one taut bud and Bridget gasped in the dim interior of the car.

  A horn beeped and Matt reluctantly broke eye contact and started to move forward to appease the driver behind him.

  He parked in the gallery lot, and they walked hand in hand through the front doors of Studio 10. The building housed nine other studios, starting with the number one and ending with the upscale gallery taking up all of the ground floor.

  Inside there was a soft glow of light, along with a number of people mingling in a cocktail-party-type atmosphere. Many were holding champagne and wineglasses as they walked among the paintings, sculpture and art objects that were displayed on pedestals on the floor and hanging on the walls.

  Bridget snagged two glasses of champagne from the waiter passing by and handed one to him. He was sucked into a contemplative discussion with a rotund man Matt didn’t know about a large ball of marble and what the artist’s vision could have been. Bridget sauntered off. He surreptitiously watched her, noting how she was in her element, working the room like a pro. He watched people laugh and so easily fall under her enchanting spell. Matt was content to stay in one place and take in the people, the art and the atmosphere, while Bridget wanted to involve herself in the mix. After a conversation with a tall brunette dressed in a stunning blue gown, they moved over to the Sheila Bowden collection hanging on a far wall.