Waves and Light: Opposites Attract Series

by Elizabeth J. Merrill

  I shook my head. “No!” I looked over her head into her closet and pulled out a pink blouse with pin tucks across the front, a nipped waist, and a peplum. “What about this?”

  “Are you sure? It’s a bit casual.”

  “It’s perfect. You can wear it with jeans.”

  “Jeans? Are you sure this will look okay with jeans?”

  “Killer. It fits okay, right? It doesn’t pull in front?” I kind of wanted her to model it, but I didn’t want to press my luck.

  “It fits fine.”

  “What shoes will you wear?” I asked.

  She reaches into her closet and pulls out a pair of worn, but polished penny loafers.

  “I usually wear these with jeans.”

  “Great. Jewelry?”

  She pointed to the cheap silver pieces of metal hanging from her ears. She clearly bought them on the drag.

  I shook my head. “Do you have any nice jewelry? My mom started out selling jewelry; it’s important to her.”

  “I have these.” She reached into her desk drawer, pulled out a red velvet case, and popped it open to reveal one of the most beautiful strings of Mikimoto pearls I’d ever seen. They came with matching earrings. Even from here, I could see the color of the pearls looked incredible with her skin bringing out her slightly pink coloring.

  “These are fabulous…perfect. Definitely wear these. Pearls go with anything. You should wear them home anyway. You don’t want to leave these lying around all weekend. The security in the dorms isn’t the best. Maybe you should keep them in my safe when you’re not wearing them. Wow! These are nice.” I can’t stop staring at them. They must cost a mint. Definitely not scholarship kid jewelry, more like trust fund baby jewelry.

  “My dad gave them to me for my sixteenth birthday,” she explained.

  “How traditional,” I nodded. “Well wear ‘em. They’re not doing you any good sitting in your desk.”

  “Okay.” She glanced down, ground one of her feet into the floor like a little kid, and blushed again for some reason. I could eat her up right now. But I won’t. Colleague. She’s a colleague, a co-worker, competition. She took my lab spot for god sakes. She looked straight into my eyes and for just a nano-second I would swear the world stopped turning.

  “2pm on Saturday?” she asked.

  “Yes, the sixth floor. Park in the garage. My mom can validate. Know where it is?”

  “I can find it.”

  I stared into her eyes a bit longer. “See you there.” She said pointedly and waved.

  “Uh…Yep. See you there.” I tucked my phone and tape into my pocket, turned reluctantly toward the door, and left.

  B.D.

  I heard Wendy, THE BEST ROOMMATE EVER, gasped, “oh,” then followed with a much lower “Heeeyyy.”

  David replied with a weak, “Hey.”

  What seemed like almost a minute later, she sauntered in.

  “Who was that?” she asked.

  “David Slade, you know the one I was telling you about. He runs the tutoring center.”

  “That’s David Slade? Wow! You were holding out on me. You said he was cute. That man is sex on wheels,” she crooned. “Really he’s the complete package. He’s got a nice butt and everything.”

  “You checked him out as he walked away?”

  “Damn straight I did! I had to make sure the back matched the front. And boy did it match and then some!” She fanned herself with her hand for emphasis.

  I gave her a skeptical look. “Really? Women ogling men is just as objectifying as men ogling women.”

  “Who says? I’ve never heard a guy object to a little female ogling. Seriously though, what was he doing here? He’s hot and all, but you need to quit that.”

  “I can’t quit what I haven’t started. We have a “professional” relationship. He’s a Fineman scholar; I’m a Fineman scholar. He’s mentoring me.”

  “Yeah, “mentoring.”” She used air quotes around mentoring.

  “No really he’s going to hook me up with some professional clothes to wear to meetings and banquets etc. Apparently his mom works at Neimans, and he’s some kind of fashion consultant to the nerdy.”

  “He’s going to buy you clothes? Like I buy clothes for my boyfriends?” she asked.

  “No, not like that at all. He’s going to help me pick out professional clothes that he gets at a deep discount. Apparently he did it for Wang last year. It’s his contribution to the program.” She rolled her eyes at me. “He’s giving back. Really!”

  “Sure that’s what they call it nowadays.”

  “He’s not like that. He’s impaired socially. I think he’s on the spectrum or something. Did you see how out of it he was when he left here? Taking my measurements embarrassed him.” I whisper. “He might not have ever touched a breast before. I might have taken his second base virginity…accidentally.”

  “Believe me, he’s been to second base before. If what I hear is true, he’s a veritable A-Rod.”

  “Really?” I asked, truly surprised. “What did you hear?”

  “Cassie Jones told me that her dorm neighbor dated him last year for a month—apparently for him that’s a long, committed relationship. She said she could hear them going at it for hours…hours! Then he just broke it off.” She snapped her fingers. “Just like that without warning, he cuts her loose. Apparently she was devastated—the neighbor not Cassie—nothing phases that girl.”

  “Well I don’t plan on “going at it” with him at all much less for hours.” My turn for air quotes. “He’s just helping me and the profile of the profession. I’m meeting him at Neimans in Houston on Saturday, and his mom is going to help me go through and pick some clothes from last year’s samples that are slated to be thrown out or at least go to charity. At this point, I count as charity.”

  “You’re going to Houston this weekend?” she asked.

  “Yeah…my mom got in a wreck, and she’s afraid the other guy’s insurance won’t pay for a rental even though the car’s not drivable and he rear ended her. She needs my car. I was going to take it back to Houston for Veronica anyway. I’m working on campus, and I can’t afford the parking sticker or the tickets.”

  “So how are you getting back here then?” asked Wendy.

  “David’s going to give me a ride on Sunday.”

  She gave me the bug eyes. “Really…just a professional courtesy.”

  “He said he was going anyway, and he wants to help with the clothes,” I shrugged. “It’s nothing. He’s just helping out a fellow physicist. We stick together, you know. We’re not in competition with each other like dancers,” I said a bit too forcefully.

  “Well “stick together” at arm’s length. I need my wing woman in top shape to guard my flank on the maneuvers I have planned for next weekend.”

  “I’m sure my professional relationship with David won’t keep me from my wing woman duties.”

  “Make sure they don’t!” exclaimed Wendy as she crossed her arms over her chest and gave me the stare down.

  “They won’t! I promise.”

  Chapter Four

  David

  I watch B.D. as she wanders hesitantly into the couture section of the store. I’m leaning on the wall of my mother’s office tucked into the back of the floor. For the first time that I’ve seen, she looks pretty good. The color of her blouse makes her skin glow, and the cut shows off that hot bod. And she’s not wearing that dreadful green eye shadow either. I wave at her to catch her eye. When she sees me, a relieved look comes over her face, and she rushes over at bit breathlessly.

  “Hey David,” she says as she reaches out to shake my hand.

  “Hey B.D.” I purposely mimic her reply while I shake her hand. “Did you have any trouble finding us?”

  “Nope. Your directions were perfect.”

  “Let me introduce you to my mom,” I say as I turn and knock on the frame of the open door. “Mom?”

  “Come on in,” she waves us in as she types one last th
ing on her computer and saves the file. She looks B.D. over then, surprisingly, gets up and walks around the desk and puts out her hand. She and B.D. are a study in contrasts. Not only does my mother look polished and coordinated with her careful chignon and French manicure, she absolutely towers over B.D. My mother’s 5’9“ and she’s wearing three inch Louboutin heels. Even though it’s Saturday, she’s wearing an icy blue Dior suit that complements her eyes perfectly. “You must B.D,” she states.

  “Yes, Ms. Merriweather. I really appreciate this. On my scholarship…”

  “Candi. Call me Candi,” my mom cuts off B.D. “I’m happy to do it.” Mom cocks her head to the side and evaluates B.D. with a thoughtful expression. Odd, my mother usually charges ahead regardless. She rarely stops to think. “B.D.” she asks, “Did I hear your last name?”

  “Oh no Ma’am,” B.D. replies. Mom gives her a warning look, “Ummm Candi. Excuse me. My name is Chase, B.D. Chase.”

  “As in Richard Chase’s daughter?”

  B.D.’s face takes on an amazed look like the sky just turned orange or something, “Why yes, do you know my father?”

  “Absolutely, he was my first commission. And for the last several years he’s been my only commission. I only come to the sales floor for him. I’m pretty sure I sold him the pearls you’re wearing. They look lovely on you by the way. He described your skin tone perfectly. Pearls can be a bit tricky.”

  “Really? I mean not about the pearls. You sold my father jewelry?”

  My mother chuckles. “Sure how do you think he got the jewelry to give to your mother in the first place. That’s what I used to do before I did this. I suspect I’ve sold your father almost every piece of jewelry he’s ever given you, your mother, or your sister. The first piece I sold him was a diamond necklace in white gold that looks like a vine curling around your neck.”

  “That’s still my mother’s favorite necklace!” B.D. almost screams.

  “I believe your father gave it to her as a wedding anniversary gift and to celebrate getting tenure,” my mother adds.

  “Exactly. Do you usually remember so much detail about your customers?” asks B.D.

  “My good customers, absolutely, but your father is a very special man—he’s very….honorable and caring.”

  B.D. looks down and blushes. “I guess, yes, he does care about us.”

  My mother leans in gently towards B.D. “I don’t believe he did the things they accused him of. I’m sure he just got swept up in all the madness. Anyone who knows him knows he wouldn’t try to trick people.”

  B.D. looks gratefully into my mother’s face and says, “No, he wouldn’t. He just took the plea deal to put everything behind him.”

  My mother nods in agreement. “I knew that was the case when I read about it in the papers. I felt so sorry for your family. How are they holding up? Is your mother okay?”

  “We’re doing better than most. And my mother is dealing with the situation. She’s gone back to teaching kindergarten; she really enjoys it. And Veronica never liked Regents anyway. She likes going to Austin High better.”

  “And now you’re at UT and a Fineman scholar.”

  B.D. nods in the affirmative.

  “I’m not surprised. Your father thinks you hung the moon. And it’s such a good physics program too. I’m sure you’ll get a lot out of it.”

  “Oh I am,” replies B.D. “I’m a lab assistant in Dr. Hrezecovic’s lab. She’s doing incredible stuff with AI and wave technology. Her research is going to change the world.”

  I nod in agreement like the good sport I am at which point my mother notices me again.

  She waves me out of the room. “David, why don’t you be a dear and head down to Mariposa and play with your phone or something while B.D. and I take care of things?” I give her a what’s-going-on-look, and she gives me an I’ll-explain-later look. Whatever. I head down to Mariposa’s for some truffle fries. Those things are good.

  B.D.

  As David walks out the door, Candi walks around her desk and dials her desk phone while holding up one finger indicating I should wait.

  “Leslie, good. Do you have time for a quick bra fitting? Now. She’s in my office with me. She’s a friend of the family.” Pause. “It should go quick. I’ll bring her down right now.”

  She walks around the desk and takes my hand and leans in conspiratorially, “Most women don’t know this, but the secret to dressing well is good foundation garments. Let’s get you fixed up first.” She leads me to the elevators.

  On the fourth floor a woman who looks like a very well-dressed grandmother meets us. Candi introduces me to Leslie. Leslie leads me into a large dressing room and takes her tape measure from around her neck and starts measuring my chest and ribcage without another word.

  “See the problem?” asks Candi.

  “Of course, her cups are way too small and her band is too large,” diagnoses Leslie as she looks down at the measurements while producing a notepad.

  “Do you have something that will work?” asks Candi.

  “We’ve got several styles that I think will work,” replies Leslie. She turns to me, “Wait here dear. I’ll be back with a few things to try.”

  Before I can explain the state of my pitiful budget or my undergarment preferences, she and Candi both sweep out the door chatting.

  In just a few minutes, she and Candi return with five nude colored bras. “Let’s try these dear.” She gives them to me with an expectant look.

  “You want me to put them on…now? Here?”

  “Of course dear. How will we know if they fit?”

  I can feel myself blushing. Candi drawls, “I’ll leave ya’ll to it. Send her up to six when you’re done.”

  “Don’t be embarrassed dear. I see other women’s breasts all day long. It’s my job.”

  “Fine.” I hate undressing in front of other people, but I submit for the greater good and start unbuttoning my blouse.

  Once I’m naked from the waist up, she tells me to bend from the waist. I give her an incredulous look, but she nods me forward. I bend and she pulls the straps over my arms and hooks the back while explaining that I need to let my breasts fall into the cups. Once I stand up, she looks right at my breasts. If she had been a man I was serving at the bar, I would have slapped her. Then she shakes her head and REACHES RIGHT INTO THE BRA AND ADJUSTS MY BREASTS! Like it’s nothing. Like breasts are any other body part.

  “There,” she says approvingly and walks around behind me to adjust the straps.

  I’m still too stunned to say anything, but then I get a look at my breasts in the mirror and MY BREASTS LOOK FANTASTIC! So this is the reason people like under wire bras. I’ve always hated the nasty, pokey things but I’ll put up with a little poking if my breasts can look like this. They’re sitting up on my chest, not bobbing off to the side, but they look like breasts not airplane noses. They’re smooth in the bra cups, but rounded and I have cleavage! Good cleavage. Not slutty I’ve-crammed-my-pitiful-boobs-together-in-a-tiny-push-up bra cleavage, but just an inch or two of demur, sophisticated cleavage. I’ve always thought that under wire bras were some kind of cruel, patriarchal torture, but this thing works magic.

  Leslie breaks my reverie by asking me to sit down. “Sit down, to see if the bra is still comfortable when you’re sitting down. Sometimes they’ll poke you when you sit.”

  “Okay.” I sit and the bra still feels great, but it doesn’t matter. I’m buying anything that makes me look this good.

  “Still good?” she asks.

  “Great!” I tell her.

  “Okay, this is a plunge bra from Chantel. Let’s try a few other bras to see if they work better. You also need a bra to wear under clothes with average necklines. So let’s get this off you and move on to the next one.”

  She starts to unhook the bra. I get a quick peek at the price tag. 80 bucks! Not even 79.99, but 80 mackerels. Holy crap! Looking good is not cheap, but it’s worth it. I can wash my clothes in the sink and
eat the crackers I steal from the cafeteria for Sunday dinner. I’ve got to get that bra!

  We go through the entire leaning over and wiggling routine for the next bra, but this one pokes me like every other under wire bra nor does it perform breast magic. Before I even say anything, Leslie shakes her head, makes a face, and murmurs, “I don’t think so.” My breasts wiggle into three more bras before we come to one that Leslie approves of. I approve too, and this bra is only 60 bucks, but I don’t think my budget can survive a 140 dollar hit, and I’m already thinking I want the va-va-voom bra, but before I can object, Leslie pops the tag off the bra I’m wearing and says, “I think you should just keep this one on dear. If you’re trying on clothes, you want to know what they’ll look like with the proper foundation.” She disappears from the changing room with all the bras. Sigh. I guess I’ll be getting the practical, supportive bra instead of the hot-to-trot bra. It’s probably for the best.

  Dressed, I meet Leslie outside, and she hands me a bag and her card. “I’ve written the brand, style number, and size down for both bras on the back of my card. When you can afford them, you should probably buy the black and at least one more additional nude bra in the style you’re wearing, Elomi’s Etta. They have a red one too. Wearing a red bra can really lift your spirits. You should also get a black plunge bra—that’s the Fantasie.” She hands me the bag. “Candi also had me include the matching panties for these bras. You don’t need them, but it’s nice to wear a matched set.”

  “I don’t understand. Don’t I need to pay you?”

  “No, Candi paid for them. These are her treat.”

  “Her treat? I can’t let her do that. She’s already helping me so much.”

  “She insisted. And you should thank her nicely. Candi’s not one to give away presents like this, but she said that you were the daughter of an old friend.”

  “I guess. I didn’t know.”

  “Just send her a nice thank you card dear,” admonishes Leslie as she pushes me into the elevator telling me to press six like I’m a kid who doesn’t get to ride in elevators often.

  *