Diva in Disguise Chapter 9

Understandably, it was with a few misgivings that I set about readying myself for my first evening as a bar hostess. I had no real idea what that role might require of me. I’d made myself a light lunch, but I was too keyed up to have much appetite. All afternoon I was on tenterhooks, half-expecting the cop to show up. By the time I began my preparations for the evening ahead he still hadn’t done so. Perhaps I wouldn’t encounter the officer again.

Now I had some choices to make. Deciding on my make-up was easy. I would go for a look somewhere between my usual style and the more dramatic one which ‘Mistie’ usually adopted. A more difficult question facing every girl in my situation was… what on earth would I wear?

I had no hesitation in ruling out the grey strappy dress I’d borrowed that morning. Call me a prude if you like, but the thing just didn’t cover enough of me. Being inconspicuous was too much to hope for, but it would be nice if I could blend into the background a little. Also, those exotic outfits I’d seen at the bar had been fun to try on, but I doubted that I had the nerve to wear one in public. I needed a confidence booster before venturing into the unknown.

None of the clothes I had with me were suitable, but I remembered an evening frock of my mother’s that I’d discovered at the back of her closet. I’d taken a fancy to it, so it had survived my trips to Goodwill. I went into Mom’s room, fetched out the dress and laid it on the bed. The material was beautiful, and the style was elegant and timeless. When I tried it on it fit me perfectly. My mind was made up. This was what I’d wear.

First, I needed to shower and attend to my hair. While I was doing so the prospect of wearing something of my mom’s gave me food for thought. From the size label, I knew that the dress I planned to borrow must have dated from the springtime of her womanhood. That would be during the years before childbearing had taken its toll on her girlish figure and the breakup of her marriage had sowed the seeds of bitterness in her soul and crushed her hopes and dreams. The emotional baggage she carried had prevented Mom from ever being a role model for me. I loved her and knew rather than felt that she loved me, but her continual measures to eradicate the last traces of my maleness had soured our relationship.

Now I began to see her in a different light, as the lovely young woman she must have been once, who had trusted herself to a sunlit future which had clouded early. It was a commonplace enough tragedy, but comprehending it afresh gave me inspiration just the same. For once, I felt that she and I had a strong connection. I wanted to represent the person who in essence she was. In her life she had never drawn back from any trial, and I resolved to try and match her courage whatever difficulties lay ahead of me.

Time was passing while I sported with these lofty sentiments, and I wasn’t even dressed! On the spur of the moment, I opened Mom’s underwear drawer and explored its delicate contents. This collection of intimate garments had still to be disposed of, though I was unsure where. Hidden below everything else was a lingerie set I hadn’t seen before, though the household laundry had been pretty much my sole responsibility when I lived at home. A matching bra and garter belt were complemented by a pair of what used to be termed tap pants. All were of an exquisite silken material in a dainty shade of pink which ought not to show beneath the pale peach hue of the dress.

More than a decade ago such flimsy underpinnings would have been de rigueur for every woman of fashion. Apparently, my mom was included in that number. It would be apt if I could be like her in this respect though I doubted whether any of the set would fit. First, I tried on the bra, then with growing excitement the garters and the pants. Amazingly the set might have been made for me!

Perfect! I next fixed my makeup, wondering how closely the image in the glass resembled that of my parent when she was in her first bloom. I could only hope there was at least a likeness to my dear departed. While my nails were drying, I had ample time for further reflection. How, I mused, had Mom felt the first time she put this finery on? Excited probably. Nervous perhaps. Happy that she looked good, undoubtedly.

I squeezed into the dress and did up the zipper. Checking in the mirror, I was pleased with the choices I’d made. There was an unexpected plus in that no panty line was visible under my tight-fitting dress. However, there was one thing I needed to change. I would have to dispense with a bra completely. The frock's bodice daringly incorporated panels of sheer lace beneath which that item of underwear would be visible. I knew that my parent would have regarded such a display trashy. Outmoded though such values undoubtedly are, they had been ingrained for me to ignore them. It was fortunate that the shape of my bust allowed me to go braless if the occasion demanded.

A hint of Mom’s perfume was the finishing touch, and my preparations were complete.

I hastened down the stair, confident that I could face whatever was ahead of me. I felt I had passed a further milestone of my journey into womanhood, now content to be the person into which I had been moulded.

My positive mindset prevailed all through my drive to the bar. As I parked up outside the place, I could see Adrian was just ahead of me and grinned mischievously to myself. The poor sap had no idea what he was in for!

I opened the door, swung my legs demurely out and drew myself to my full five foot something. The man did a double take and I suppressed my smile as he vainly tried to hide his reaction.

“Er… you look nice” he stammered, waiting for me to come up with him.

Saucily, I gave him a twirl and halted in front of the guy, coyly fluttering my lashes for added effect. “A girl has to make an effort, now and then. Good to know that it’s appreciated. And you look good yourself!”

He held the door for me to enter and as I passed close by him, I felt a hand brush against my butt. I stopped short and moved it aside somewhat pointedly. Clearly, I needed to lay down some ground rules.

As we made our way inside, I could feel his breath on the back of my neck. He was in my space. I turned face to face with him. “Adrian, I’m here tonight partly for the money but mostly to help you out. If you want me to stay, there are a couple of things that need to change. Who knows, they might even make you successful in running this bar.”

The guy was taken aback. He shifted his weight uncomfortably to the other foot. “I’m listening.”

“Rule number one. Don’t get drunk before we open. Please!” Though the evening hadn’t begun, I’d observed he was already looking longingly towards the spirits behind the bar.

The woman behind the counter, Alma, cocked an ear in our direction.

“What the…!”

“I want to know I’m working for someone who is capable and sober. I’m sure Alma feels the same.”

The latter pulled a wry face but nodded.

He hesitated, then “Okay, point taken. I can do that.”

“You’re sure?”

“I’m sure” he replied testily. And number two?”

“Don’t hit on the staff!”

Our colleague chimed in with a fervent. “Amen to that!”

“Flirting is okay, but no touching, unless specifically invited.”

The guy looked sheepishly at the floor.

“Is that a ‘yes’?” Why did I feel like I was the adult here?

“Sure. Got it.”

“Okay let’s get started. What do you want me to do?”

Adrian’s instructions were very concise. I was to be welcoming and friendly to the customers and encourage them to drink and buy drinks for me. I was provided with a matchbook to keep a tab of each drink bought. No ‘funny business’ need be tolerated. “Any questions?”

“Can Alma make sure that all my drinks are non-alcoholic, please?”

He shrugged. “Of course. Whatever you want.”

My relief at negotiating this key concession was soon dispelled by his next instruction.

“There’s not much time. You’d better get changed.”

“But… Changed? Don’t I look okay like this?” I was piqued and it showed in my face.

“Don’t fret, honey. You look terrific but…”

“You and I are supposed to match!” put in Alma. She was attired in something long and blue with voluminous layers to its skirts. “Pity, but it has to be so” she continued. “I just know I’m going to look like the ugly sister next to you.”

With an air of resignation, she stubbed out a cigarette and led the way. “Come on!”

So much for my careful choice of clothing! The idea that I would be under Mom’s imagined protection was blown to pieces and instead, recollections of some of the situations she had gotten me into took its place. There had been plenty of those that had been far more like a health risk! However, my new resolve was unbroken as I followed Alma to the powder room. I could handle this!

“You had best get dressed in here. There’s not enough room in that office for the two of us, ’specially when we’re both tricked out in all this stuff” she grumbled, tugging at the layers of tulle encircling her.

“Do I really have to change? This used to be my mom’s best dress and I love it.”

“Honey, I don’t make the rules around here… and Adrian only thinks he does. It has to be so!”

With Alma’s assistance, and not a little reluctance, I changed out of my carefully selected dress into one similar in style to the older woman’s. Instead of shades of blue, mine was in a myriad of pastel hues.

“As if I didn’t have enough on my plate trying to compete with looks like yours, you get to wear the prettiest outfit” she continued to complain.

“Oh, I really like yours. It’s great on you, but if you had rather, you’re welcome to wear this one?” I queried.

My offer to swap with her was greeted with peals of laughter. “That’s real nice of you, honey, but there’s one small obstacle to that suggestion.
It’s years since I’ve been able to squeeze into anything that small!”

Conspiratorially, she whispered “Mine has had a few alterations.”

“No matter” she tittered. “I’ll be behind the counter with Adrian all night so no-one will notice me. You’re the one who’ll be out there, sweet-talking the punters.”

The gown was quite something. Its rainbow of colours was highlighted with sequins sprinkled all over. I emerged from the switch looking like I was dressed for a gala night at the opera. The bodice was strapless and cut low and though the skirt was floor-length at the back, the hemline at the front was raised, so despite the layers of material there was plenty of me on display.

I was okay with that, however, and was soon too busy to be concerned about what I wore. It was a Friday night and as soon as the doors opened the customers came in thick and fast. In the main the clientele were older and better dressed than those of the previous evening. There was a sense of occasion in the air. I greeted as many as I could and thanked them for coming. Usually, I didn’t have to inquire what they were drinking. Most needed no encouragement from me. Alma and Adrian were hard put to it to keep up with demand.

I had half-expected that Ryan might be among the crowd. I was unsure how to handle meeting the youth again. It was bound to be a little awkward. As it happened, he never showed. Why should he? It was better that way. Why would I be disappointed? It didn’t mean anything if I kept glancing at the door as the evening wore on.

Once the first rush had passed my interaction with the customers became more personal, but those exchanges came quite easily to me. Basically, I flirted, engaging unaccompanied males particularly in such lively chit-chat as occurred to me. I was surprised how readily this kind of frivolity came to my mind. Evidently, I had been fitted quite naturally for the role of barfly. A hidden quality much to be prized!

Or perhaps not!