The Women's Job - Part 8

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Connie was up when I finally got out of bed Saturday morning. "Well good morning sleepyhead. Did you sleep all right?"

"Not too well," I admitted, rubbing the sleep from my eyes as I walked into the kitchen, still in my pajamas.

"What's wrong? Is your chest still hurting?" She asked, looking up from her paper and tea.

It had awakened me several times during the night when I rolled over but that wasn't it. "A little." I sat at the table next to her. I knew she was tired of hearing me worry about what other people thought of the way I looked and dressed. I had decided I was going to try not to complain anymore.

She poured me a cup of tea and got my vitamins for me.

I noticed my reflection in the shiny surface of the toaster and realized I had forgotten to take off my headband when I got up. I felt foolish enough wearing it without parading around the apartment in it. I did find it better sleeping with it on. I reached up and pulled it off.

Connie didn't say anything to me when she saw me do it. She only smiled. I felt like a little kid trying to hide something.

It was nice not to have to work that Saturday. I didn't think I would have been able to concentrate anyway, with the party on my mind. I was thankful for the workout at the spa with Trish and Judy.

"You have to promise to take a picture for us." As we walked to our cars after the class, they insisted on seeing me in the outfit that they saw in my office Friday. I told them I would.

It was only five when Connie said we should start to get ready to go. The limo wasn't coming until seven but I did as she asked.

I had to stop and think when I last shaved as I stood in front of the mirror checking my face. I used to be able to get away with only shaving about every third day. My beard didn't grow very fast. I thought back. It had to have been Tuesday and I still had no stubble. My face was as smooth as a baby's ass. I didn't think much of it. It was one less thing to worry about before getting ready.

I had showered only about an hour and a half ago so I didn't need to do it again.

Out of curiosity, I touched one of my swollen nipples gingerly and shook from the sensation that went right through me. I wondered how long it would be before it would pass and the swelling would go down?

I decided to put on my lotion since I had so much time to kill. When I did my legs I wondered how long it would take before my leg hair would begin to grow back. My legs were still very smooth.

With that done, all that was left was to get dressed and brush my hair.

I would have felt better if the pantyhose were heavier, like the green pair I wore Wednesday with the kilt. You could see my legs through these. I had put on black underwear. Somehow, I thought it should match.

I took the shirt down from its hanger. It was off white and the material was a rayon polyester blend, according to the label. The collar was nothing special, maybe a little wider than normal. The long sleeves were cuffed and had three cloth covered buttons. On the hanger, I couldn't tell the sleeves were so full. I didn’t realize that the buttons down the front were hidden under a placket so you couldn't see them.

What Bobbie referred to as a wrap skirt was just that. I wrapped around my waist and was held with a clasp on the side. I was relieved that it came down almost to my knees. The material was nothing like my other skirt. It was much lighter and not nearly as corse.

I put on the jewelry before taking down the black and white hounds tooth blazer from the closet. I was surprised to find that it had padded shoulders. I thought they would make my shoulders look funny but when I put it on it didn't look too bad.

The shoes were the final touch. They were as comfortable as they were soft but they looked so strange on my feet. I stood in front of the full length mirror next to the dresser. My stomach rolled silently as I looked at my reflection. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. I was terrified, absolutely terrified of being ridiculed.

Then I stopped to consider for a moment. I was going to a place where they wanted to see me dressed this way. They were actually anxious to see me. Second, I was going to be with Connie and I trusted her to look out for me. And last, Christy already knew what to expect, right down to the Leggs pantyhose. She was still excited about going with me. So why did I need to worry?

Connie was almost ready. All she had left to do was put on her cocktail dress. She was in the living room in her slip when I came out to show her how the outfit looked. "I definitely approve. Virginia Castle is going to be so pleased." Connie beamed. "All we have to do now is fix your hair."

I was on the verge of asking what was wrong with it the way it was, then stopped. I had vowed to stop complaining.

"Let's go in my bathroom where my things are and I'll see what I can do with it."

I followed her inside. I had never been in her bedroom before. It was much larger than mine. So was her bathroom. She sat me down at the vanity, facing away from the mirror. "Just relax and sit still while I try a few things."

"What are you doing?" I asked nervously when she took a curling iron out of a drawer.

"Just relax Jeffrey. I'm not going to hurt you." She told me in a motherly tone.

I did as she asked and waited impatiently until she was finished. It wasn't long before she was done. She sprayed on a generous amount of hair spray. "There, I think that should do it. You should like this." She stepped back. "Take a look." She said smiling proudly.

I didn't say anything at first. I didn't know what to say. My hair, which normally laid pretty flat, was no teased on top to look fuller. The sides, which had been fuller since the cut and perm, now stood out even more. The ends were turned under slightly and pulled back on my face. Just the hint of a curl came forward on each cheek.

She was standing behind me watching, she looked very pleased with her efforts. She waiting for my reaction. I couldn't hurt her feelings. "It looks very nice" I told her.

I saw her expression change to one of disappointment. "You don't like it."

"No, I do." I insisted, turning to her. "I just need to get used to it. It's really very . . . stylish. It's just that I don't think I could ever fix it like this myself." I was groping for excuses.

The pleased look returned, "Don't be silly, I'll teach you. It'll be fun. It will be much easier to style in the mornings, when it's still damp from your shower. A blow dryer is a great tool to add fullness and you won't need to use so much hair spray. We'll get you a new, stronger one and your own curling iron."

My stomach was doing flips as I sat in the living room waiting for Connie to finish. I watched the minutes tick off the clock. I played with the bracelets on my arm and my new ring. Keeping my legs together when I sat was something I would have to work at remembering.

The doorman had called up that the limo was downstairs.

"Where's your bag?" Connie asked as we were about to walk out the door.

It wasn't intentional, I really just forgot it.

I didn't know whether to hold the strap in my hand and let it dangle there or to put it over my shoulder. I decided it was too conspicuous in my hand.

The limo driver, an older man, held the door while Connie and I climbed in. My resolve, not to let things worry me, wasn't as solid as it had been an hour ago. If it hadn't been for Connie's encouragement I would have locked myself in the bathroom and refused to go anywhere, dressed the way I was.

I gave the driver Christy's address when we got in. We were on time. She lived in an apartment complex. Fortunately we were able to park right in front of her place so I didn't have to walk too far.

I summoned all my courage and stepped from the car and walked to her door. She must have seen the limo pull up because the door opened as I approached it.

Christy stood there in a tuxedo and high heels that made her appear an inch taller than me. The tuxedo was tailored to fit her like a glove and she look beautiful in it. She had her hair pulled back, tight against her head, and gathered in a French braid. She stared at me with a huge grin on her face. "Oh Jeffrey " She repeated herself "Oh Jeffrey . . . "

"I know, I look ridiculous." My heart sunk in my chest.

"Oh no!" She said, smiling even more. "You look fabulous." She reached out and took my hand. "Come inside a minute."

I let her lead me inside. I was shocked to see four girls waiting in the living room and started to pull away from her. "No Jeffrey, they're friends of mine. They just had to come by and see."

My cheeks started to turn red.

"They're models Jeffrey. There's nothing to be embarrassed about. They've seen it all."

One after another, they repeated Christy's sentiment about how wonderful I looked but it didn't make me feel any less embarrassed.

"You really do look incredible." One of her friends said. They all got up to get a better look at me.

I felt I had to tell her. "Connie insisted I do my hair this way."

"Don't apologize, it looks cute that way." Said another of her friends.

"It really does. Your boss has a wonderful sense of fashion." Christy assured me. "Your hair styled like that finishes off the look perfectly."

"Connie's waiting for us." I wanted to get out of there.

One of the girls grabbed a camera on the coffee table. "Just let me get a picture of you too. You look adorable together." Christy stood next to me. "Christy put your arm around his shoulder. That's it, now smile." I tried. "Come on Jeffrey, you can do better than that." Christy stretched over and kissed me on the cheek. I instinctively smiled at her as the flash went off on the camera.

I introduced my new girlfriend to my boss. "Perfect choice of outfits Christy," Connie told her. They were instant friends and fussed over me the whole way to the party.

Ms. Castle's home was an estate. We passed between brick columns as we turned in the driveway. It was at least a hundred yards up the brick drive to the house. The limo pulled around the circular drive in front of the old southern-style mansion. A valet opened our door. The doorman held the front door for us. Connie presented him with our invitation.

There were at least thirty people there ahead of us. They were all dressed to the hilt. I actually felt underdressed.

It was nice to have Christy on my arm even if it did look backward, I should have been holding her arm, considering the way we were both dressed.

Ms. Castle, in the midst of everyone, welcoming her guests, broke away when she spotted us and came right over. I could see her approving look from across the room. She ignored Connie and Christy for the moment.

"Jeffrey you look incredible."

"Thank you but it's not me, it's the clothes." I felt Christy squeeze my arm slightly.

Ms. Castle leaned over and kissed me on the cheek. "You are such a dear Jeffrey."

She turned to Connie, laying her hand on her arm. "I'm so glad to see you."

"I couldn't refuse an invitation from one of the most gracious hostesses in Atlanta."

"Ms. Castle, I would like to introduce you to my friend, Christy Rourke."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, dear. I love your suit. The two of you make quite a statement together."

"Thank you Ms. Castle. When Jeffrey asked me to accompany him tonight and told me what it was he hoped to do for you, I thought I might be able to help enhance the statement your new line is trying to make."

I thought to myself, listening to Christy, that she's not only beautiful but insightful and smart.

Ms. Castle seemed impressed. "That was very thoughtful of you Christy. Are you in advertising too. You seem to have a flair for it.

"No, Ms. Castle. I'm a model."

"A very pretty one at that but don't sell yourself short, you're a very astute young lady. What do you think of the way your boyfriend looks?"

"I think Jeffrey looks fabulous!"

She turned to me. "Now Jeffrey, I'd really be grateful if you'd circulate as much as you can. I've told everyone how really excited you are about the new line and they're dying to hear your opinions."

She turned to Connie. "I have some people I'd like you to meet." She took her by the arm and the two powerful women returned to Ms. Castle's guests.

"You're really something," I whispered to Christy.

"Me, what about you?" She kissed me on the cheek. "You're the salesman."

That was about the last time we had a moment alone the entire evening. The women were taken with me and were full of questions. "What is it that prompts you to dress this way?"

"Men in this country have been the victims of reverse discrimination for a hundred years. They haven't been allowed the freedom to dress comfortably or in anything but dull, drab colors. Even the heavy materials we're forced to wear are depressing. I was ready to try something different and I'm not alone."

"Do you think the world is ready for this drastic change?"

"Half the world's population has never regressed to where the American male is today, afraid to be himself. Our European neighbors have already woken up to the revolution. It may take a little time to wake up the American male but he will find the strength and self-confidence and when that happens, and it will, people with foresight, people like Ms. Castle will be ready."

"Do you really believe that the timing is right to put out this line?"

"The time is here. Look at what young people are wearing. Boys are swapping clothes with their girlfriends, with their sisters and the girls love it. Women have been trying for years to get us out of our old flannel shirts and wool suits. The kids are changing fashion right under our noses. All it will take is someone with the courage to offer these kids what they currently have to barter with their girlfriends to get."

Few men came up to us at first. Those that did, wanted Christy's opinion. She picked up on my theme beautifully.

One man did come up to me with a question. "What would prompt a young man to wear a skirt?" He was very serious.

"Have you ever worn one?" I asked him. "No! Never." He replied, making a joke of it. My question made him uncomfortable.

I asked him. "You've never walked around the house in a towel in front of your wife, and maybe the kids?" I didn't give him a chance to answer and spoil my line of reasoning. There were a dozen people listening to me now. "You never wrapped yourself in a towel at the beach or around the pool? Back in high school, you never paraded around the locker room with just a towel wrapped around your waist, horsing around with your buddies?" I hardly paused for a breath. "They're comfortable. They don't restrict you the way pants do. And there's this incredible breeze." With that, I lifted the hem of my skirt slightly and pretended to love it." The women laughed louder than the men.

Another man in the background had a question. He was a younger man and had shoulder-length hair. "Aren't you concerned about appearing feminine?"

"You ask that like it's a dirty word," I responded. "I don't feel that my putting on a skirt makes me feminine. If it does, then so be it. No, I believe that what most men construe as the feminine is a feeling or maybe the ability to feel deeply. It's a state of mind. It's the way a person thinks, the way they feel about things and other people. If being feminine is being open, honest, and sensitive, I hope that's exactly how people see me."

A woman asked, "Where do you draw the line. What comes next, dresses for men?"

I pondered a second or two. "I don't know. First, I'd like to point out that it's 'Drawing the Line' that has repressed men's fashions in America, up to now. Throughout history, in Europe and the Far East, it was perfectly acceptable for men to wear dresses. It’s only been the past hundred or so years that males have decided trade that comfort for slacks and shirts."

"As to the American male wearing dresses, no, I don't believe that they're ready for that yet, but it will come. They'll be designed to flatter and fit the male physique comfortably. Yes, it will happen."

A gentleman in the crown pressed me. "Would you wear one?" Before I could think of an answer, Christy spoke up. "I can't wait to get Jeffrey into one. He's so sexy in this outfit that I can just imagine him in an evening gown." I turned to her, shocked before I realized what she was doing. Her humor broke the tension that surrounded us and everyone had a good laugh. I suppose it gave the man something to think about.

An older woman asked. "Why did you go to the extreme of having your hair done that way?"

"You feel this is extreme?" I asked the woman. "There are thousands of young men and boys in this country with hair down their backs, who are permed and styled in salons every week, who spend millions of dollars to make their hair look attractive. Besides, my employer thought the curl was the perfect touch." I flipped the hair at my cheek. The women, at least, laughed.

A comment came over the crowd. "So you're being paid to dress up this way tonight?"

"Not a dime" I replied calmly. This was a hinging point. "I dress this way because I choose to. I'm very comfortable with what Ms. Castle is preparing to introduce to today's waiting males. I'm just delighted that someone had found the courage to offer us an exciting alternative."

The personal questions would have probably gone on for a while if Ms. Castle hadn't announced that dinner was served. I was beginning to wonder if I could keep up the farce much longer.

"May I have a picture?" A man stepped forward. I would have preferred he didn't, but to say no would have been a mistake. "Sure"

He took several. "Now one with your girlfriend."

Christy jumped right in. Posing was what she did best. He took a half dozen shots of us before he was satisfied. "Thank you very much."

I won the women over and even some of the men. Beautiful, sexy Christy helped me with a few more. As we walked to the formal dining room, She whispered in my ear, "You were wonderful."

"Thanks, so were you." I kissed her cheek and she smiled lovingly at me.