Reluctant Diva 18
Inspired by Lipstick Discipline
Chapter 18 – Unveiled
A couple of weeks later, events took another turn in my life. It was Saturday morning and I’d just completed my chores when the doorbell rang. Wondering who this might be, I tripped over to the hallway mirror before answering the door like any self-respecting young girl would, except I wasn’t a girl! My make-up needed a quick retouch and few stray locks of my hair required tidying. While I was fixing them the bell went again. I smoothed my dress, a simple shirt waist affair but in a pretty pale blue material with little white flowers that set off the white buttons and belt. It was one of my favourites.

White flat shoes completed my ensemble and having satisfied myself with my appearance I stepped confidently to the door and opened it. Standing in front of me was the last person I expected, or wanted, to see. My Dad! Oh no! This can’t be happening!
I’m unsure who was the more disconcerted, he or I. For me the emotion was more in the nature of panic, while he could only gape, speechless, at the person stood before him!

Eventually he managed to croak, “Rob… Robert? Is that you?!”

I could only nod dumbly in reply. After a few moments I recovered enough to ask him to come in.

At least he didn’t seem mad at the sight of me. “What has that woman done to you? She’s got you dressed up again. Some kind of punishment? Listen son, you don’t have to let her do this to you.”

I didn’t know what to answer, but he needed to know. I finally plucked up the courage to say “No, Dad. This is me; my choice. It’s the way I am these days.”

He looked at me aghast. I shrugged and showed him inside to where Tom was seated watching TV.

My brother’s face lit up at the unexpected sight of his father and leaving the two exchanging greetings, I made my exit with a hesitant “Er… I’ll call Mom.”

Anxiously wondering what her reaction to this impromptu visit was likely to be, I ran through to the back yard where she was arranging flowers on the patio table.
“Er… Mom!” I braced myself for the impending storm. “Dad’s here!”

It was easy to see that this was as much a shock for her as it had been for me.
I continued “He’s in the parlour with Tom.”

My mother’s powers of recovery were much more rapid than I could have expected. “How nice of him to call” That was the only remark she made as she calmly made her way through the house, with myself trailing unhappily in her wake.
“Well this is a surprise” Mom had forced a smile as she entered the room. “You should have let us know you were coming. To what do we owe the pleasure?” Nervously I followed her in.

Dad glanced uncertainly from her to me then back again. “Just passing through. I was over in the next town on business yesterday and stopped the night. I thought I would look you all up as I drove back.” His voice sounded natural enough though his face looked rather strained.

“How thoughtful!” Mom wasn’t to be outdone in curtesy. “Leave us for a little while, you two, please,” looking at Tom and me. “Your father and I have some things to discuss.”

The door closed ominously behind us and Tom looked at me questioningly. I just shrugged, not knowing any more than he did. He vanished upstairs to play in his room. On tenterhooks, I went and sat in the sunny yard, uneasily wondering what was being talked about, and worrying how I should behave before Dad when their tête-à-tête was done. I lost track of time and was only aroused from my thoughts by the sound of someone’s approach. When I looked up I saw my father anxiously regarding me.

“Well, you certainly look the complete young lady.” He sighed and shook his head. “Your mother tells me that this is your decision. Is that right?”

I nodded. “I guess. Sorry, Dad. It wasn’t my first choice and I know it’s not what you want for me, but life is better like this, believe me. We’re all happier.”

He stared at me again, then “If I had my way… ” and stopped short in mid-sentence.

“But you’re not around, Dad. You’re with Marnie and you know I can’t come and live with you.”

He had no answer to that. Eventually he shook his head again in resignation. “To think a son of mine…

I looked away. This was painful.

Finally he shrugged his shoulders “I guess I’ll have to get used to it.”

I seized on this reluctant conclusion like a lifeline. “Yes, Dad. You’ll get used to it. I have.”

There was an awkward silence. What was there to say? Eventually he muttered something about needing to get back and that he’d see me around. Our eyes met for an instant before he turned to go.
“Bye, son. Bye, er… Jennifer!” I wasn’t sure who felt the shock of hearing that name from his lips more, him or me!

“Bye, Dad. See you soon… I hope.” A tear made its way down my cheek. I hastily wiped it away hoping he wouldn’t notice.

He nodded and as I watched walked to his car; a last wave and then he was gone. It was sad that things had to be the way they were. He was my dad, after all. Somehow, though the goodbye seemed so final, the overriding feeling I had was one of relief; relief that he knew and that there was some kind of acceptance.

The following afternoon I was sitting with my mother. Like her I was wearing one of my Sunday dresses and the subject of his visit came up.

“So, your father wasn’t too pleased when he heard that you are now ‘Jennifer’ full time. The nerve he has! To come here unannounced! I don’t need his interference and neither do you, my girl. He’s made his bed and now he has to lie in it!”

“No, Mom.” I sat with downcast eyes. It was best to agree before she built up a head of steam.

In a few moments I was pleased to see her face change from a look of anger to one of concern. “Did you find it very upsetting, sweetie?”

“Well… To start with I was surprised and it wasn’t easy. I was just thankful that he seemed to accept things the way they are. It’s a lot for him to get used to.”

She looked uncertain as to whether she agreed with me or not.

I managed a wan smile. “Anyway, it’s a relief. At least I won’t be anxious about seeing him again.”

I could see her considering. It was a moment before she spoke. “Well, you may be right.”

It was reassuring that we were in sync but my comfortable feelings were soon dispelled by her next words.
“Perhaps we should put that to the test. It’s your birthday in six weeks. I’ve got some ideas about how we’ll celebrate it.”
Oh no! I didn’t like the sound of that.

She continued with that air of mystery which so often before had heralded my downfall in the form of a new ordeal. “And one of them is for your no-good father to play his rightful part for once.”

Wondering what she could possibly be planning, I remained uneasy the rest of the day. There was nothing I could do, so I just had to wait and see what she had in mind for me. As it happened I wouldn’t be kept in suspense for too long and the next day events were set in train which those few short weeks later found me in a situation I couldn’t have imagined in my worst nightmare. In a little church hall the other side of town, the double doors before me opened and I caught my breath. As the birthday girl, I knew I had to make a grand entrance. It would be into an unfamiliar room where every eye was upon me because I was the star attraction. How had I ended up in this situation?! I took a hesitant step forward and as I did so there was universal applause. The hall was decorated with streamers, ribbons and balloons and seemed to be filled with people whom my fevered brain hardly recognised.

I felt as if I’d been decorated like a tree at Christmas. My hair was elaborately coiffed and sparkled with diamante studs surmounted by a rhinestone tiara. My wrists and throat were similarly adorned. My make-up was flawless; my lengthened eyelashes fluttered with mascara, and my finger and toenails glittered with polish which exactly matched the shade of my painted lips. That shade had been chosen to complement the gown I had been squeezed into in the final moments of preparation. Constructed in a shimmering satin over voluminous layers of silk and taffeta in a delicate lilac colour and glittering with ornament, the dress formed a dazzling showpiece which caught the eye, and wouldn’t let go.

The waist seemed impossibly narrow and served to draw attention the prominent breasts above it which were emphasised instead of concealed. When I’d checked in the mirror, I hadn’t recognise my reflection in the least. Was that hourglass figure and décolletage really me? How had my admittedly girlish body undergone such a transformation? Long story!

The Saturday following my father’s visit, on my return from work at Mrs Martin’s, Mom told me to keep my coat on as there was a place we had to be and drug me out to the station wagon. I was glad that my maid’s dress remained hidden beneath my coat as it really wasn’t something I wanted to be seen in; by anyone at all! The familiarity of the neighbourhoods we passed through soon led me to guess that we were paying another visit to Mrs Bell or Madeleine as I now thought of her. In the weeks since my last time there, the idea of being on first name terms with such a sophisticated lady had gradually stopped being weird, even if she was older than my mom. Despite this apparent familiarity, however, I was experiencing some trepidation as to just what might be in store for me. That was on top of my uneasiness about going anywhere in my uniform of course. As things panned out my fears were entirely justified!

We were greeted by the maid opening the door for us. Maria took Mom’s coat and ushered her into the parlour before attending to me. When mine was removed she gave a cry of surprise and pleasure to see that I was attired similarly to herself.
“Little miss is little maid! Very sweet!”

She stood close to me and compared the length of our dresses. Of the two mine was easily the shorter. “Very sexy!” was her conclusion.

But then she drew attention to our necklines. Mine showed just a hint of décolletage while hers revealed her ample bosom. “Not so sexy! I teach you, yes?” and saying which, she pulled the little cap sleeves of my dress off my shoulders with the resulting display of much more cleavage. Naturally enough I was embarrassed by her action but even more so when her hands carried on to smooth the material over my breasts.

“Nice boobies!” Her fingers lingered on that sensitive area and my body reacted to her touch in a way which was far from usual these days. I had come to expect hardly any response down there and it was unnerving to find that Maria’s proximity had this effect on me, entirely uncalled for. A memory came to my mind of the time during my previous visit when Maria had ‘helped’ me bathe. That had also triggered some kind of animal attraction in me to her stocky body. There had to be something that was making my breathing short and my pulse quicken.

I coloured up in confusion and the maid grinned knowingly at my blushes. She finally allowed me to follow my parent who was already deep in conversation with Madeleine. When we were seated and Maria had brought us coffee and retired to her kitchen, Mom’s manner became business-like.

“Now, as Madeleine and I have discussed, Jennifer, you are about to turn fifteen. In some cultures that is an important milestone in a young lady’s life and we should mark this birthday with a fitting celebration. Can you ring for Maria, please?”
My parent continued “In many traditions there is a celebration that marks the passage from girlhood to womanhood. On entering the world of adults it’s important to be surrounded by the love of family, friends and community.”

The maid came into the room at this point and our hostess asked her to be seated. With a mischievous air, Maria did as she was bid, and perched herself demurely on the sofa next to me. Two maids together!

Madeleine took charge. “Maria. You know that Jennifer here is about to be fifteen. Quince años. Tell us how you celebrate this in your family.”

The maid’s manner became instantly animated. “Ah yes!” she rolled her eyes at me. “Little miss will soon be woman. She will be the quinceañera. Big party! Beautiful dress! Lot of fun!” and I gave an involuntary gasp as she placed her hand firmly on my thigh.

Her mistress gave her a reproving look. “Tell our guests all about this celebration for the quinceañera. We understand that it’s her coming of age party, but what takes place?”

The next twenty minutes made my head spin as Maria elaborated on the events that made up such parties. It was hard to understand all she recounted but I gathered that there was a religious ceremony followed by a reception for all the friends and relatives. There would be food, music, and dancing, with the girl accompanied by her “court” of damas (“maids of honour”) and chambelánes (“chamberlains or male attendants”). She listed a variety of symbolic activities which took place too, all of which had a special meaning for the girl at the centre of all this festivity. It went way over my head but Mom was making notes and Madeleine seemed to be taking it all in. I was more occupied by worrying over the thought that the girl at the centre was intended to be me!

When the maid got to describe what I would be wearing, words were inadequate. That the dress would be very full, elaborately ornamented and floor length like a wedding gown was quickly established. From there her description was accomplished more by gesture and touch and when she used her hands to emphasise that my waist should look tiny and my bust be prominently displayed, I found myself blushing deeply yet again. I could only hope that the other two were too preoccupied to notice my confusion. Maria’s suggestive smile indicated that she herself understood my bodily reaction only too well!

Madeleine and my mother had become engrossed in looking at an exclusive catalogue of ball-gowns, ooh-ing and aah-ing over the various styles. While they were so engaged, the maid took the opportunity to turn her back on them and give her undivided attention to me. She slid her hand all the way up my leg, with an expressive grin. “Little miss soon be woman. Fun!” she mouthed to me.

I tried to ignore the sensations this provoked. I found it irritating that Maria had this effect on me, not to mention embarrassing. I closed my legs together tightly to safeguard myself with what little dignity I could still muster, ignoring my body’s traitorous response as much as possible. It came as quite a relief when Mom eventually called me over to look at the various dresses she had short-listed and after a little time I was able to regain some of my composure. There were some fabulous creations pictured there and it was unsettling to find myself becoming enraptured at the thought of wearing just about any of them. Hey I’m a guy! What am I thinking?! When I saw the price tag of the gown that was finally chosen I gaped in wonder and I could only nod in approval.

At our hostess’s prompting the next task was to measure me for size and she undertook this herself, carefully noting the circumference of my bust, under-bust and waist. The skirt of the dress was so full that my size below the waist didn’t matter. My expectations from past experience of buying dresses was that the size purchased would be based directly on my measurements. In this case, however, it seemed to matter more what my mentors calculated I would be measuring on the day. Weird! Apparently, it was expected that I’d be much bigger up top and smaller around my waist by then. I didn’t comprehend, though Madeleine stressed the point several times. There was no point in protesting. Perhaps it might become clear as time went on.

As we prepared to leave for home the evening held a further unwelcome surprise. At Mom’s bidding the maid took a suitcase from the rear of our car and deposited it in the hallway.

At my questioning look, “Madeleine has kindly offered for you to stay with her this weekend” my mother informed me. “It’s to help you start your preparations for your big day, so naturally I’ve accepted for you. Don’t forget to thank her.”

I was so shocked I could only stare at her dumbly.

My mother smiled slyly. “I’ve packed everything you will need,” she continued decidedly. “Well, girl! Don’t just stand there!”