Head Over Heels

Head Over Heels
Gale Stanley
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2024 Gale Stanley

Genesis

The shop clerk raved over my figure. “You can wear anything,”

While I called myself skinny, she called me svelte. “You could model,” she added over her shoulder as she pulled dresses off the rack for me to try on. She deposited them in the dressing room and told me to call her if I needed help.

Sighing, I undressed down to my cotton panties and bra, and inspected myself in the full-length mirror. Not much up top. I hope he won’t be disappointed.

Fuck him. It was just a blind date.

For the hundredth time I cursed myself for accepting this date. Going through all this hassle and expense for some loser was beyond ridiculous. I’d rather get a root canal. The only reason I hadn’t bowed out was because my mechanic had arranged it. The last time I brought my car in, he jokingly said that I should date a grease monkey like him. It was how he’d met his wife. He followed that with, “Hey, I know just the guy.” And I’d let him talk me into it.

Still, experience had taught me that blind dates never turned out well. Of course, most of my experience was thanks to my father, the District Attorney, trying to control my life like he controlled everything in the city.

I couldn’t even count the times he’d had his secretary fix me up with political hacks that would further his career. When I started ghosting them, he orchestrated chance meetings at the endless cocktail parties he threw for his political cronies. He planned to run for office someday and having a daughter married to a politico and campaigning for him would be a major boon to his career. The whole thing felt really creepy and manipulative. Nothing was more personal than who you fell in love with. Besides, my father and I were politically diverse. I would never vote for his bootlickers, let alone marry one. His attempts to play puppet master were doomed to failure from the beginning and a major reason why I moved out of his house and into the Dollhouse.

That’s what I named my micro apartment in the Signature Suites building. That sounded a lot swankier than it really was. My little piece of heaven was only four hundred square feet; one-room with a sitting slash sleeping area, kitchenette, and bathroom, but it was all mine.

I turned my attention back to the dresses. The good thing about having small breasts was that I could wear just about anything. The bad thing was that most men love big tits. I was enlightened when I turned sixteen. My father had given me a check and told me to get breast implants. Hurt and disgusted, I spent the money on a creative writing class and started a blog. I learned early on to do the opposite of whatever he wanted. If only my mother hadn’t gotten cancer and died when I was three. I hardly remembered her. Wiping away the tears, I vowed not to think about that now.

After slipping a dress over my head, I made a face in the mirror. “Ugh.” The hem hit the floor and the slinky material made me look flatter. It went back on the hanger, and I tried on number two. Too short, too black, too dressy. It was something my father’s secretary would wear to one of his political functions. I glanced at my watch and started to panic. I had no time to hit another store.

The green floral print with a halter top seemed promising. I tied it behind my neck, and twirled. Feminine and flowy, the hem landed between my knees and ankles. The bare back and built-in bra treaded a thin line between classy and slutty, but the dress flattered my figure and I had white strappy sandals that would work with it. The more I checked it out in the mirror, the more I liked it.

I looked at the tag. The price blew my mind. I hated spending money I didn’t have. My closet was full of jeans, leggings, and business casual for the photo ops I used to take with my father. If I cooperated with Bruce, I’d have a bigger apartment and lots of clothes, everything I could want, but I’d be selling my soul. Since moving out of the big brownstone, I’d been happier than I’ve ever been.

I stared at my reflection. I’d have to put it on a charge card. Is it worth it? It had been a long time since I bought myself something new and I looked good in it. That settled it. Fuck the price. It was indeed worth it. I changed quickly, and looked for the saleslady.

My car was still down the street where I left it. I’d heard that car thieves preferred old Toyotas for parts, but even they weren’t interested in my 2009 Corolla. Maybe the leaking fluid puddling under it warned them off. Shit. I wondered if I should continue to fix it or if it was time to ditch it. I just hated to cut the cord. The car was paid for and I couldn’t afford a new one.

I started it up and headed for home. I was a panicker, so when the car started shaking and vibrating, I freaked out. At least it didn’t die until I pulled in front of my apartment building.

Shit, shit, shit. I should have said no to the dress and canceled my date. All that money could have paid for car repairs. Those times when I doubted my decisions I would go to Kate for a second opinion.

Kate was my bf, my confidant, and my partner in crime. She was a voice of reason in my chaotic life. She was older than me and whip smart. Oddly enough I’d met her because of my father. Well, indirectly. Kate was a secretary in the mayor’s office. Two years ago, we met at a boring political function. All night we laughed at the pompous civil servants and public employees walking around with sticks up their asses. Including my father. Turned out that, despite our age gap, we had a lot in common, starting with the same sense of humor. We both liked good books and Sex in the City, and we could talk about anything and everything. Even when we haven’t spoken in a while, we could just pick up right where we left off.

Best of all, Kate didn’t judge me. Being older, she’d already been through the same things I was going through now. If two people were compatible then why not be friends, because age is just a number. At twenty-one I’ve already met so many assholes that I was super picky about friends and lovers. I didn’t have many of either because I believed in quality over quantity.

Kate picked up after several rings. “Hi, girlfriend. Getting ready for your big night?”

“I don’t know. My car died. I’m thinking I should cancel.”

“Do you want to cancel?”

“I’m torn. I already bought a dress, but I could return it.”

“Go for it, girl. Do you want to end up like me? Thirty-fucking-five on my next birthday and still single. Fear of forty is a real thing. Call him back and ask him to pick you up.”

“I can’t do that. He might be a serial killer. The whole idea was to meet in a public place.”

“But weren’t you fixed up by someone you know?”

“Yeah, my mechanic. He said he might be shooting himself in the foot because his friend is a mechanic, too, but he’s willing to lose my business if I like his buddy.”

There was a long silence.

“Kate? You still there?”

“Yeah. Just thinking. And I think you should keep the date. You might miss out on something good. Just keep me on speed dial, in case your plans change again, or you need me to rescue you. I’ll be home all night.”

“Kate, you’re the best.”

I felt so much better. Kate was right as usual. I really needed a night out and knowing she was a phone call away made me feel safer. I called Aaron and he immediately offered to pick me up. So far, so good. Please God, don’t let him be an asshole.