Chapter 3
You know the Paris imports."
After he left, Joyce said, "Come on, big boobs. I'll show you the joint."
"Why do you say big boobs?" Charlene asked, very surprised. She had nice, well-rounded, quite adequate breasts which had been the envy of her girl friends, but they certainly weren't big.
"Because Mr. M. wants you to model all the things that need big boobs. You know, swim-wear, low-cut things. Come on." Joyce stood up and led Charlene to a closet at the other end of the dressing room. "This is where you'll put your own clothes." Joyce opened the closet and Charlene could see a few items of clothing, presumably Joyce's.
"And what're these things?" Charlene asked, indicating a long rack in front of the closet that was filled with modish shorts, blouses, slacks, several bikinis, and even a few long skirts and dresses.
"That's the line we're showing right now," Joyce explained. "Don't forget to hang up each piece carefully after showing, even if you have to rush into the next item. Otherwise, Judith will have a fit."
"Who's Judith?"
"She's Mr. M.'s right hand sort of a gal Friday. Didn't you see her flitting around while you were showing for Mr. M.?"
"Oh, yes," Charlene answered, recalling the birdlike creature who had appeared briefly while she was walking and turning for Mr. Morris.
"Don't let her fragility fool you," Joyce said. "She's as tough as leather, and Mr. M. doesn't make a move without her."
Then, turning in another direction, Joyce went on, "Come on, kiddo, I have to take you to the fitting room so Ruth can get your measurements. Take that off," she said, indicating the bathing suit. "Just leave on your underpants."
Charlene did as she was told, but asked, "Is there a smock for me?"
"No, but you'll have one tomorrow. Come on."
"Well, I'd better put my dress back on, then. I can't walk out of here in these." Charlene looked downward, indicating her blue-white, see-through mesh panties.
"Sure you can. The fitting room's just around the corner. Nobody pays any attention around here."
"But suppose a buyer... " Charlene didn't have a chance to complete the sentence, for Joyce wearily took her by the hand and led her, bare boobs and all, out of the dressing room, down a short corridor, and into a large room which was teeming with activity. There were, first of all, quite a few oversized wooden cutting tables, rows of sewing-machine tables, attended by little ladies speeding away on them; there were ironing boards, and irons, half-clad mannequin forms, and material piled all over the place.
This was where it all happened, Charlene decided. With all these people busily fitting, cutting, sewing, pressing, a piece of fabric could become a lovely creation. And from bolts of material, the creation was multiplied into a blossoming of fashion.
Ruth, the fitter, appeared, wearing a tape measure for a necklace. "This is Charlene, Ruth," Joyce introduced. "Our new model."
The fitter, a slip of a woman, smiled with uneven teeth and said, "Charlene, is it? Good. Well, you should do fine here, dear. You've a perfect body. It will be a pleasure to work with you."
"Oh, thank you," Charlene answered. She knew instinctively she would get on with Ruth.
Charlene spent a little more time getting acquainted, getting the feel of the place, poking her nose into all the corners, feeling out some of the people, sensing she must try to become "one of the family." She tried, for example, to understand the momentary discomfiture she noticed on Joyce's face when Ruth complimented Charlene's figure. She wondered if perhaps Joyce was one of those girls who had great difficulty maintaining their weight and, if so, was she in for some competitive, professional jealousies? She hoped not, because she had instinctively liked Joyce just as she had Ruth even though she did detect a certain indifference in the other model. At this point of the game, Charlene was quite ready to be friends with everyone. And petty jealousies she could certainly do without.
Finally she felt it was time to leave. Jon would be waiting downstairs in the coffee shop, or if all "coffeed" out in the car. As she was going out the door, she heard Mr. M. ask Joyce to start showing the line. A big buyer from Kansas had just arrived. Tomorrow, she thought, I will be a part of this whole, exciting business.
Charlene walked out of the building on Los Angeles Street into the smog-filled morning and blinked into the hazy sun. She wondered if she would be able to survive the air day after day, working in this part of town. At least in Westwood Village she could look up and see blue.
Jon was waiting in the open convertible. He looked ruggedly handsome, face tanned and dark hair offsetting the whole perfectly.
"Hi, kid," he grinned. "Don't tell me. I know you got the job by your smile."
"I sure did," Charlene said, jumping in. "And not just because of my mother, either. Those clothes fit like they'd been made for me."
Jon gunned the motor and sped away, taking a peculiar route.
"Hey, aren't you going to take the freeway home?" She looked at him quizzically.
"Nah, what's the hurry? Sonja won't be home this early. We have a couple of hours." He looked at her, his sexy face making all sorts of mysterious promises. Without further preliminaries, he reached over and put his hand high on her thigh. "Hey, you've got pants on!"
"Of course, did you think I'd go job-hunting bare-assed, as my mother would put it?"
"Well, you're not job-hunting now, baby. Come on, take them off. Don't you want to feel my hand on that hot, chubby dripping cunt?"
Charlene felt a now-familiar thrill ripple through her as she cooperatively removed her panties. Involuntarily she spread her legs wide open in the topless convertible as Jon drove unevenly up toward Sunset Boulevard.
"God, what a sweet, wet pussy you have, baby. He took his hand away and licked his fingers. "Oh, don't take your hand away like that," Charlene moaned.
"I'm not stopping, baby," he said as he thrust his hand back under her skirt. His fingers found her clitoris, and then also explored deep within her oily emptiness.
She was leaning back against the leather seat, eyes closed, body undulating sensuously, when a truck pulled up alongside them at a stop signal.
"Harder, deeper!" Charlene implored.
"Easy, girl," Jon warned. "We've got cars all around us. And a truck right next to us on your side." He moved to extract his hand again.
"No, no!" Charlene exhorted. "I don't care, I don't care at all. Just don't stop." Jon thought a moment, and then shrugged his shoulders.
Horns honked and short-tempered people cursed as Charlene languorously completed a beautiful orgasm in full view of the truck-driver.
As the light turned green a second time, traffic proceeded at a very slow and quiet pace, disturbed only by the grinding of gears from a missed shift in the huge Diesel.