Slow Surrender by Cecilia Tan Read Free Book Online Page A

stockings are pre-ripped. Is that okay?”
    “Um, maybe.”
    “Yeah, sorry, I know, I’m soooo retro-punk. What size do you wear? In shoes, I mean.”
    “Eight.”
    “Dig around in the bottom of the closet for shoes, too, then. I never wear any of them and there are a ton. Crap, I hope Milo hasn’t been peeing in there or anything.”
    “Me too. Thanks, Becky. That’s really nice of you.”
    “No problem, Rina. Hey, would you feed Milo for me? I’m not sure when I’ll be home.”
    “Where are you, anyway?”
    She hesitated a bit. “Just out with some girlfriends I met last night. I’ll tell you about it when I get home. Eventually.”
    “Looking forward to it!” Sounded like she was having quite the adventure. Well, good for her. I gave up looking for a real breakfast and decided to look for the clothes instead.
    First I poured some kibble into Milo’s half-full bowl on the side table by her bed. The cat deigned to open one eye and then closed it again.
    I decided to start with the dresser. It was an old wooden thing she’d gotten at Goodwill, so bulky we had to get help from two neighbors and the building’s super to get it in here. The top-right drawer almost wouldn’t come open it was crammed so full, but I finally pulled it loose, and several balled-up pairs of stockings sprang free.
    I ended up dumping the whole drawer out on the bed, which made Milo’s whiskers twitch, but he didn’t bother opening his eyes. I wasn’t worth spending the attention on, apparently.
    It looked to me like Becky had never thrown away a pair of stockings. It seemed every pair of L’eggs, drugstore-brand knee-highs, or Victoria’s Secrets she’d ever bought had been packed into that drawer. Who needs four or five dozen? Black ones, patterned ones, nude ones, opaque ones…some seemed new, while others had runs in them. I guess if you wore them under torn jeans runs were okay. I had never been much of a fashion plate myself.
    I sorted them out as I looked through the pile. Among them were some that were separate, more like thigh-high socks than stockings. I suddenly had a thought.
    I speed-dialed Becky again. “Is there a difference between stockings and pantyhose? I mean, aren’t they all considered stockings? Or are stockings only the ones without the panty built in?”
    “Why don’t you ask the director?”
    “I couldn’t get him,” I lied.
    “Well, is this a period piece? A retro thing?”
    “Maybe? I think I’m playing the part of sexy secretary.”
    “Then you better go with real stockings and not pantyhose,” she said.
    “Uh, sure.”
    “There should be garter belts in there somewhere, too.”
    “Okay, thanks.”
    Indeed, digging through the mass a bit more, I found a black elastic thing that had to be a garter belt and some individual stockings that had a faint pattern to them with a thick, black seam up the back. Bonus, these didn’t have any holes.
    Next I tried the bedroom closet. There was so much crammed in there, the door wouldn’t shut. The rod was completely full of hangers and then more hangers hung crosswise on those. Thankfully, there was a skirt that looked like it might do. I almost missed it, because it was hidden inside a jacket on the same hanger.
    I went back to the kitchen to get the flashlight to spelunk the bottom of the closet. What I found was a graveyard of old shoes, all flung together. A lot of them looked like they must have been bought to go with bridesmaid dresses or something. I eventually pulled out one slim, black pump that looked like it might work, but to find the match I had to excavate forty or fifty other shoes until I came to it.
    I spent more time putting everything back than I did digging it out.
    * * *
    I didn’t try the whole outfit on until Friday. I figured since I had to call him at seven, I’d start getting dressed around six-thirty. What I hadn’t counted on was getting into a discussion with Becky.
    I had the skirt, stockings, and garter belt