The following morning, Barbara showered and, when she returned to her bedroom, Maggie was sitting on her bed. “Wear that new cornflower blue blouse with the black skirt. And the light-blue bra and panties.”
As Barbara reached for her traditional underwear, she asked, “What difference does it make what I wear underneath?”
“If you feet sexy under your clothes, it affects the way you behave. I want you to spend the day knowing that your breasts are being held by that wonderful erotic fabric.”
“But…”
“Do what I ask, Barbara,” Maggie said. “Trust me. You want him to notice you, don’t you?”
“Well, yes.”
“Good. So do it my way, just this once.”
Barbara sighed and dressed as Maggie had suggested. After a quick breakfast, Barbara put on her coat. “Will you be at work with me today?”
“No,” Maggie answered. “I’ll see you here tonight and you can tell me all about it.”
Barbara arrived at work at two minutes before eight, got her coffee and settled down to work. Her boss was in court that morning and wasn’t due in until after lunch. Except for a quick trip to the ladies’ room, Barbara stayed huddled at her desk all morning. The people who passed by noticed her new hairstyle and makeup and several commented cheerfully on how lovely she looked. One woman complimented her on the silver streak in her hair and a young male associate actually winked at her, something that had never happened before.
Throughout her almost solitary morning, she occasionally forgot her makeover, but then she would look down at her hands typing or dialing the phone and her nicely shaped nails, polished in a medium pink, reminded her again. Maybe Steve would notice her, like in one of those romantic movies. “Oh my goodness, Barbara,” he would say, “I never realized.” She smiled at the thought, then shook her head and got back to work.
As she usually did, Barbara ate lunch at her desk, then returned to work, her eyes glued on the screen of her word processor. At one-thirty, she jumped as her intercom buzzer sounded. She picked up the phone and her boss said, without preamble, “Barbara, I hope you finished the Sanderson documents. Mr. and Mrs. Sanderson are due here at two for the closing.” Barbara realized that she had been so engrossed in hiding her new look that she hadn’t even heard Steve come in.
She prided herself on her efficiency and always had documents completed long before they were needed. “Of course, Mr. Gordon, I’ve got them whenever you’re ready.”
“I wondered with that day off you took yesterday. Bring them in here, will you?”
“Certainly, Mr. Gordon.” Barbara stood up, carefully arranged her black wool skirt and straightened the collar on her periwinkle blouse. As she walked into her boss’s office, he was bent over, rifling through his briefcase which lay open on the floor beside his desk. “Damn,” he swore, “I can’t find a thing in here. Barbara, help me, will you?”
“What are you looking for?” Barbara asked, putting the documents she held on his desk.
“The Norton file. I had it just before lunch.”
Barbara crouched, exposing a long expanse of thigh and began to systematically go through the contents of Mr. Gordon’s briefcase. “It’s right here,” she said, quickly locating the missing file. As she looked up, she saw Mr. Gordon staring at her.
“What have you done with yourself?” he asked.
“I just got a few new things.”
“And had your hair done, and got new makeup. Stand up.”
Barbara stood, trying not to back up under his intense scrutiny. She watched his eyes travel from her hair to her heels and back up, several times. Then he released a long, low wolf whistle. “Not bad.”
“Thank you, sit,” Barbara said, straightening her shoulders. “I just felt I could use a lift.”
“Well, you certainly got a lift.” He stared for another full minute, then cleared his throat. “Okay. I see you have the Sanderson closing documents. I think everything should be in order. I have some notes from court this morning that need to be typed up.”
Barbara sat in the small chair across from Steve Gordon’s desk, smoothed her skirt and crossed her legs. As she arranged her computer on her lap, she caught Mr. Gordon staring at her knees. She sat, waiting for him to begin. “Mr. Gordon, I’m ready whenever you are.”
“You know we’ve been together for how long? Almost two years?”
“Actually, it’s almost six years.”
“Well, don’t you think it’s about time you started calling me Steve?”
Totally taken aback, Barbara said, “I guess so, Mr. Gordon. I mean Steve.”
“Good.” He hesitated, then opened the folder in his hand. “I had a call from Mrs. Norton this morning. Take this down…”
At four-thirty, Barbara cleared the top of her desk, locked her laptop in her drawer and got her coat. As she was about to leave, Steve came out of his office. “Good night, Barbara,” he said cheerfully. “And by the way, that silver patch of hair is very, well, very attractive. Have a nice evening. Got a date?”
“No. sir, I mean Steve. No date.”
Steve put his arm around her waist and guided her toward the elevator. “Well then, maybe there will be time for me some evening.”
Unable to breathe, Barbara merely nodded as the elevator doors opened.
“Well, have a nice evening.”
“And he suggested that we might have dinner sometime,” Barbara told Maggie several hours later. It was all Maggie could do not to swear when Barbara mentioned the whistle. He reminds me more and more of Arnie Becker, she thought.
“He looked at me, Barbara continued, unaware of Maggie’s reaction. “I mean, really looked. He thought I looked good.”
“Well, you do look good. Did work go well, too?”
“Sure. We did the Sanderson closing. I had caught a few minor errors and fixed them before they became problems. I also checked on the title insurance for him.”
“What would he do without you?” Maggie said dryly.
“You’re not happy for me, Maggie,” Barbara said. “I don’t understand.”
“Sorry. I’m the one who helped you with the makeover and all and I’m glad you’re pleased. It’s just I have a basic dislike for men who only notice women when they’re attractive.”
“Oh, Maggie,” Barbara said, sipping a glass of Chardonnay while she sautéed chicken and vegetables. Since Maggie’s arrival, she was beginning to develop a taste for wine with dinner. “That’s not really true. He always knew I was there. He just, well, you know. He’s got other things on his mind.”
Maggie
