“Here we go, Mrs. Tucker,” she trilled, heading for the dressing room. “A size 6.”

“Did I just see what I think I saw?” I asked, amazed.

“Yes,” Becky said. “We switch size labels all the time.”

“What a brilliant idea. I wish Bloomingdale’s would start doing that. If they did, I might even try on a bathing suit.”

“As long as we’re here,” Lance said, “why don’t you try on a few outfits?”

“I already told you. I’m not interested in buying any clothes.”

“Oh, come on. Just one outfit.”

“No way, Lance. I’m not trying anything on. Nada. Zilch. Nothing.”

Ten minutes later I was squeezed into a dressing room with an outrageous assortment of outfits I’d never in a million years dream of wearing. There were skintight pants, see-through blouses, and one of those handkerchief-sized tank tops I’d seen earlier.

“How am I supposed to get into this?” I asked, waving it out the dressing room door.

“It’s spandex,” Lance said. “It stretches.”

Somehow I managed to squeeze myself into it. And for the first time in my life I knew what it felt like to be a sausage.

“Try it on with the harem pants,” Becky called out.

Oh, God. Those harem pants. Just the memory of them makes me shudder. I’ll spare you the gruesome details. Let’s just say I looked like Barbara Eden on prednisone.

I stepped out of the dressing room and everyone gasped. Not in admiration, I can assure you.

From over at the counter, where Mrs. Tucker was paying for her “size 6” pants, Frenchie didn’t even bother to stifle a laugh.

I struggled through a few more outfits, each one more disastrous than the last.

Eventually even Lance gave up.

“I think Jaine’s more the tailored type,” Becky said diplomatically.

I scrambled back into my elastic-waist pants and T-shirt and came back out of the dressing room, ready to strangle Lance for putting me through such a humiliating ordeal.

Perhaps sensing how irritated I was, and trying to make amends, Becky said: “Hey, Jaine. I was just wondering. Have you ever written any advertising copy?”

I nodded. Of course, not everyone would consider Toiletmasters a major account, but it was advertising.

“It just so happens that the owner of the store is looking for someone to write a new ad campaign. Would you be interested in the job?”

Suddenly I was in a much better mood. Paychecks have a way of doing that to me.

“Should I try to set up an interview for you?” Becky asked.

And, in another move I’d live to regret, I said yes.

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Copyright © 2004 by Laura Levine

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