I wrote this after walking past a Victoria's Secret and wondering what chiffon felt like. This is what happened...."Lace & Chiffon"
The fabric draped her body so delicately that it barely touched her skin and certainly didn't hide anything. She wore a silk dressing gown to keep her shoulders warm but did not bother with covering herself. She knew why I had come.
"Charlotte," I said. I knew it wasn't her real name, but it was the only one I knew. It tasted thick and heavy on my tongue.
"You must be Jane." She looked up at me from her crowded vanity table and rose to shake my hand. I ignored her in favor of wonder at the shiver of her nightclothes. They shifted and whispered against her soft, white skin so gently as she moved. It was in that moment that I came to hate her.
"So he told you my name, did he?" I tried to laugh but choked instead. "It's amazing you two ever even spoke at all. God, look at you." I gestured to the swell of her breasts, the curve of her ass and lithe limbs half-covered in the early light.
"Yes, he spoke of you often," she said, softly, as if I were a wounded animal. I suppose I was. "He told me so much I feel we could be - might be - great friends if you knew me as well." She smiled. I felt sick.
"Friends!?" I spluttered. "How could we be friends? You stole from me, you destroyed my life and everything I cherished. Everyone knows and I'm ashamed to show my face in public." I breathed in, swallowing the scent of her perfume and (surprisingly) clean sheets. The oxygen cleared my head so I could continue. "But you should be the ashamed one." I reached a hand into my purse.
"Jane," she began. "Jane, I'm so sorry. He should have told you sooner and had no right to let you find out the way he did. I never meant for you to get hurt, he said - "
"I don't want to hear what he said!" I screamed and pointed the gun at her perfect, shocked mouth. "Now, Charlotte," I said calmly. "I want you to give me one good reason why I shouldn't do the women of the world a service and kill you right now."
She walked to her nightstand and pulled a cigarette case from a drawer, then lit one with shaky hands. She looked at me for a moment, then let her robe cascade to the floor in a silken puddle leaving her dressed only in lace and chiffon.
"Because," she said, taking a drag, "if was just business between Dan and me and you know that; because he really loves you as much as you love him; and because if you kill me, you won't have anyone to hate but yourself for feeling the way that you do." Charlotte took two, fateful steps toward me, drifting in a cloud of smoke. "Because you're intoxicated by me, Jane, no matter how sick it makes you feel."
I dropped the gun and felt the shivery whisper and gentle brush of lace and chiffon drift past my skin, and I cried.
"Charlotte," I said. I knew it wasn't her real name, but it was the only one I knew. It tasted thick and heavy on my tongue.
"You must be Jane." She looked up at me from her crowded vanity table and rose to shake my hand. I ignored her in favor of wonder at the shiver of her nightclothes. They shifted and whispered against her soft, white skin so gently as she moved. It was in that moment that I came to hate her.
"So he told you my name, did he?" I tried to laugh but choked instead. "It's amazing you two ever even spoke at all. God, look at you." I gestured to the swell of her breasts, the curve of her ass and lithe limbs half-covered in the early light.
"Yes, he spoke of you often," she said, softly, as if I were a wounded animal. I suppose I was. "He told me so much I feel we could be - might be - great friends if you knew me as well." She smiled. I felt sick.
"Friends!?" I spluttered. "How could we be friends? You stole from me, you destroyed my life and everything I cherished. Everyone knows and I'm ashamed to show my face in public." I breathed in, swallowing the scent of her perfume and (surprisingly) clean sheets. The oxygen cleared my head so I could continue. "But you should be the ashamed one." I reached a hand into my purse.
"Jane," she began. "Jane, I'm so sorry. He should have told you sooner and had no right to let you find out the way he did. I never meant for you to get hurt, he said - "
"I don't want to hear what he said!" I screamed and pointed the gun at her perfect, shocked mouth. "Now, Charlotte," I said calmly. "I want you to give me one good reason why I shouldn't do the women of the world a service and kill you right now."
She walked to her nightstand and pulled a cigarette case from a drawer, then lit one with shaky hands. She looked at me for a moment, then let her robe cascade to the floor in a silken puddle leaving her dressed only in lace and chiffon.
"Because," she said, taking a drag, "if was just business between Dan and me and you know that; because he really loves you as much as you love him; and because if you kill me, you won't have anyone to hate but yourself for feeling the way that you do." Charlotte took two, fateful steps toward me, drifting in a cloud of smoke. "Because you're intoxicated by me, Jane, no matter how sick it makes you feel."
I dropped the gun and felt the shivery whisper and gentle brush of lace and chiffon drift past my skin, and I cried.
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