Page 43 of If Not for My Baby
Phew.
“You need something light and slinky,” Lionel instructs. Despite the ruddy glow of his cheeks that tells me he’s been taking shots with the guys again, he’s back in his PA form. No-nonsense, ready to tackle any problem. “The black dress you wore on Joe Jennings’s show did wonders for your complexion.”
Indy studies her bag. “I don’t own anything black.”
The bus turns up some kind of hill and we all brace ourselves on the walls. My stomach lurches.
“What about this?” Molly says, looking down at herself. Molly’s dress is almost exactly what Lionel described. A silk mid-length slip with a low back and deep V in the front whereher lacy black bra peeks out. Teensy spaghetti straps barely hold the thing together.
“Wait, it’s perfect,” Indy breathes, in awe.
“No,” I start, mind reeling. “I can’t—”
Molly hops off the sink in one graceful motion, pushing me into Indy, who braces herself on the wall, then pulls the dress easily overhead.
I try not to gawk, but Molly is so beautiful it hurts my eyes. Her golden skin is rich and smooth, her body toned in ways mine will never be no matter how many times I redownload the Nike Training Club app. Her belly button is pierced through, as are her nipples, which I notice thanks to the entirely see-through lace set she’s wearing.
She throws the dress over my head before I can object.
Another knock sounds.Goddamnit.
“I need to piss,” Grayson calls out.
“I’m not clothed,” I screech from inside the dark silk cocoon.
“Neither is Molly,” Lionel announces, trying to help.
“Okay, now yougottalet me in,” Grayson growls from the other side.
My face contorts and Indy catches the expression. “Go away,” she yells.
“Molls.” Pete sounds like he’s somewhere beside Grayson. “Time to go!”
“Then go,” she calls back. “I’m not your babysitter.”
“Pete, can you find my purse?” Indy yells into the door.
This is a fever dream. I’m experiencing sensory overload.I slide the dress down swiftly. I can’t even see myself in the mirror because Lionel’s blocking it, but it’s fine. I just want out of this bathroom.
“Good?” I ask the jury.
“Your bra.” Molly grimaces. “Off.”
“I can’t go without abra.”
“Oh, come on.” She’s still so very naked.
“You don’t have to do anything you aren’t comfortable with,” Indy adds, ever the support system.
“But the bra looks hideous,” Lionel says, in the same caring tone. “Really, it does.”
“Why are all the hens in there?” I hear Conor call out. “We gotta head!”
Before I can think much more about it I strip off the comfy bralette and feel cool bus AC on my back.
“Here,” Indy says, putting sleek gold hoops in my ears and a swipe of gloss across my lips, motioning for me to mush them together. I do as instructed.
“And here,” Molly adds, running a bit of her eyeliner across my lids. While my eyes are closed I feel Lionel mussing up my hair. The aerosol noise of hair spray sounds and I inhale sticky chemicals.
