Part 2 of 4
“Pleasure to meet you Alice.”
His voice had turned her name into a song. Alice grinned even now at the memory.
“So, what do you do Alice?”
“During the day I teach piano, you?”
“During the day? I fight crime.”
Alice glanced at the crisp black suit, plum shirt, and black tie, frowning, “Police officer?”
Will laughed, “Criminal lawyer.”
“Nice.”
“So if teaching piano is your day job, what do you do under the cover of night?” Will asked lightly. “I’m not going to have to prosecute you one day, am I?” the look on his face was jokingly suspicious.
Alice smiled, “Not unless playing the piano is illegal.”
Will had eyed her, “You walk a dangerous line my friend. Piano’s one of those instruments—”
“Excuse me!” a nasally irritated voice had interrupted. “What can I get you?”
Alice had turned to face the pimply student, obviously only pouring coffee out of necessity, “Grande Chai Latte.”
She turned to Will next, “You two together?”
“Yeah,” Will had replied. “Grande Americano, Black. I’ve got this,” he’d added to Alice as he pulled out a twenty.
“You sure?” Alice asked, instantly feeling uncomfortable.
“Of course, you can just pay me back with your number.”
Alice was sure she’d blushed scarlet again, mumbling, “I think I can handle that.”
“Extra foam?” he’d asked her.
“No thanks,” Alice had replied absently, rooting through her purse for her new business card holder. Will had carried their coffees over to a table and they’d sat and chatted for an hour. Alice had been fifteen minutes late for her first class that day.
He’d called her at lunch to ask her out, suggesting they grab lunch today at a bistro he liked. Alice had accepted, perhaps too quickly because he’d laughed. Since then they’d texted a few times but nothing serious. Still she could feel the fluttery feeling in her stomach multiplying like hydrogen atoms in a nuclear explosion.
As Alice sat up and placed her feet on the floor, her miniature dachshund, Byron jumped up onto her bed, curling up in the warm spot she’d left behind. She threw the blanket back over him and bounced over to her closet, pulling out the blue sundress and hemp wedged sandals she’d decided on. Hanging the dress on the closet door, she grabbed a clean towel off her vanity stool and let herself into the washroom.
Stripping off her pyjamas, Alice performed her requisite bloating check in the mirror. She probably shouldn’t have had pizza last night. At least her skin was nice, radiant even. Her cheeks were pink and her eyes were bright; she was glowing. She’d seen pregnant women looking like this before: healthy. Still poking a her stomach, Alice ran the water and submerged herself in the warm spray only to resurface when every inch of her had been scrubbed, buffed, shaved, washed, conditioned and moisturized.
Alice still prodded at her stomach absently as she dried off; slipping on her sexiest panties and bra, after she’d removed the tags. One look in the mirror made her feel better instantly. Black lace danced across her ivory skin. Her waist instantly looked smaller, her stomach flatter, her skin brighter.
Towelling off her hair she flopped the towel over the back of the vanity chair and turned to pull the dress from the hanger. She stopped, one shoulder still on the hanger. Alice, glancing from the glow of her hand to the dress and back, replaced the other shoulder and returned the dress to the closet.
© Jessica Becking 2010
