turns out to be a few pairs of shoes on the floor and an overflowing laundry basket in the corner. This woman is a neat freak, I think as I watch Morgan trawling through her clothes, pulling things off hangers to discard them as she determines what Stephanie can keep and what doesn't suit her so needs to be chucked.
Morgan is efficiency herself, saying things like, “too baggy”, “bad shape”, and, “wrong colour”. But I notice Stephanie has a somewhat strained look on her face as she watches Morgs simultaneously discard more than three quarters of her wardrobe in an ever-growing pile on the floor.
As I watch in disbelief at Morgan’s increasingly frenzied attack on this poor woman’s clothes I really start to feel for Stephanie. Her life was turned upside down by her divorce and the public humiliation of her husband leaving her for a younger woman.
It’s very clear Morgan is not taking Stephanie’s fragile emotional state into account, so I decide to try to make her feel more at ease.
“ I know it’s hard,” I say to her. “We need to go through your clothes so we can keep the items that work for you and discard the ones that don't. Then we can do the fun part - shopping - and find some really fabulous pieces to make you look a million bucks.”
Not really hitting the mark there, Jess. Stephanie nods, still watching as Morgan starts in on her folded jerseys, inevitably adding to the floor pile with a rainbow of brightly coloured knits Cyndi Lauper would be proud of.
“ I bet you have lots of great memories wearing some of these clothes,” I continue, trying a different tact.
Morgan seems oblivious to us, intent on her task , looking like a manic acrobat on a mission, flinging Stephanie’s clothes around the wardrobe. Stephanie averts her eyes from Morgan’s commotion and looks at me with obvious gratitude, eyes welling up.
“ Thank you, yes I do. I know that I need to achieve this ‘new me’, but I really didn't expect to feel like this, watching my old clothes being rejected. I mean, they’re just clothes after all. I’m being silly.”
Just as I 'm about to reply Morgan chimes in. “Right. Now, we've worked out what would be best offered to the City Mission, it's time to put some new looks together for you Stephanie. With such a fabulous figure it's an outright crime you've been hiding up those curves!”
Morgan's sm ile looks almost feverish. What’s got into her? She’s gone from the queen of professionalism in the dining room to a crazed demon on crack cocaine.
We both watch her, mesmerized, as she proceeds to rush her through the cardinal rules of dressing an hour-glass - low cut tops so breasts don't appear to start at your neck, cinched in waist to emphasize curves, A-line skirts to skim the hips, hipster trousers to minimize the bum, etc. etc. - demonstrating with what clothes poor Stephanie still has hanging in her wardrobe.
Totally disregarding Stephanie’s obvious bewilderment s he then wraps up the session brusquely. “Well, it's been wonderful seeing you today, Stephanie, and I really think we've made some major progress. I'll leave you with Jessica to organise when we're going to go shopping together in order to add some new, exciting pieces to complete your new look. I'll see myself out, no need to get up.”
Still frantic she turns to me, saying, “Jess, I'll call you later. Thanks a million, babe.”
And then she's gone and Stephanie and I are left standing in the wardrobe next to a mountain of abandoned clothes on the floor, both feeling like we’d just witnessed an exorcism.
Although I’m utterly in the dark as to why Morgan just rushed through the session and then left at breakneck speed, I’m certain she’ll have a fully plausible explanation she simply couldn't share with me in front of a client.
R ight now I need to do some damage control to ensure Stephanie's feeling positive about our session and excited about going shopping with us later in the
Learning to Kill: Stories