Heather Macallister - Male Call

“Yes, you do.” Franco tapped his pencil impatiently.

She did know. “Okay, but I don’t know how.”

“Oh, hon, you don’t want that Barry creature.”

“Oh, no. But I want him to ask me out to Tarantella. I want him to beg me.”

“And you want the construction workers to whistle at you.”

“Maybe just once.”

“I could pay them for you.”

Marnie laughed, then immediately sobered. “You’re saying that’s the only way—”

“No, it was a joke. A bad one. But I did make you laugh.” He studied her and Marnie was reminded of the construction foreman’s thorough scrutiny.

“We have a lot of work ahead of us.” Franco stood.

“We?”

“You didn’t think I wouldn’t respond to your cry for help, did you? We’ll start by doing your colors.”

“What?”

“We’ll ascertain which colors are most flattering to you before we go shopping, my little Cinderella.”

“Shopping isn’t one of my favorite words. I mostly order online.”

Franco gave a world-weary sigh. He used sighs very effectively. “I shall return with my swatches. You need to change.”

“I know.”

“I meant your clothes. What did you bring?”

Marnie looked down at herself. “Uh, more jeans. Some T-shirts.”

“Do you have a white T-shirt?”

“Mostly white. It’s got the blue writing on it from the Carnahan Easter 10K Fun Run.”

“Wear it backward or turn it inside out. And let me check my costumes—”

“You have costumes?”

“Yes, I’m an actor and a playwright and sometimes due to budgetary constraints in the small theaters, one must exercise many talents.” He headed for the door. “I’ll be back.”

Marnie cleared away the teacups and unpacked her suitcase. The closet was empty, except for a large hanging bag. She hung up three T-shirts, two pairs of jeans and her pajamas and robe. She didn’t know what to do with her underwear, so she left it in the duffel, which she set on the closet floor.

“Yoo-hoo,” she heard. Marnie couldn’t remember a time when she’d ever heard a grown man say “Yoo-hoo.”

Franco was in the living room. He’d pulled a chair over to the bay window and had taken the shade off the lamps, which he’d turned on. “We’ll need to see how you look in both natural and artificial light.”

Marnie pictured the Carnahan offices. “I spend most of my day in fluorescent light.”

“How ghastly.” Franco grimaced. “I found a nice, plain, black skirt I think will fit you. Go put it on.”

“A skirt? Isn’t denim a neutral color?”

Franco pinched the top of his nose and inhaled. “Marnie, please start thinking outside the box.”

Apparently thinking outside the box meant putting on the black skirt. Fine. Whatever.

Marnie already had on the white T-shirt and now she added the skirt. It slipped smoothly over her head and settled around her hips, swirling around her thighs before brushing its hem around midknee.

Marnie couldn’t remember the last time she’d worn a skirt or a dress and yet she’d been faithfully shaving her legs just the same. Now was the payoff. Who would have known?

She zipped up the skirt and looked at her reflection in the full-length mirror on the closet door. Even she, fashion nihilist that she was, could see that the black skirt was probably the most flattering thing she’d ever worn. And it fit. Maybe a little loose at the waist, but that was just lasagna-eating room.

She smoothed her palms against the material noting the thick, rich feel. She turned to the side and thought for a moment that she saw a glimmer, but when she looked closer, it was gone.

What material was this? Some kind of silk, she guessed. Good quality stuff.

“Marnie? Are you about ready, hon?”

“Coming.” With a last look at herself, she headed for the door, the skirt warmly caressing her legs as she walked. She’d taken off her hiking boots and was walking barefoot across the wooden floor. The skirt made her walk differently. She could feel it in the sway of her hips and the placement of her feet and caught herself emphasizing certain movements in order to feel the material of the skirt against her skin.

She could be on to something here.

“Come, come.” Franco gestured impatiently. “And let down the hair—oh those ends…well, baby steps…baby steps.”

Marnie took a seat in front of the window and for the next few hours—actually only about thirty minutes—Franco draped scarves next to her face and made her look into a hand mirror. There were three piles of scarves: those that made something about her “pop,” which she learned was a good thing, and those that made her look like a corpse, which was a bad thing. Then there was the secondary pile, the “only if it’s on sale” pile.

She was gratified that the colors in her parka made the pop pile, but Franco only shook his head. “Colors aren’t everything. However, you lucky, lucky girl, you’re a Deep Autumn. You can wear black.”

“Everyone can wear black.”

“Everyone does wear black, but not everyone should.”

Franco gathered up his scarves then presented her with a swatch sampler. “You may borrow this if you swear that you’ll use it. Also, I will give you a list of acceptable boutiques where you may shop and put your choices on hold. I’ll stop by and approve them and you can make the final purchase then.”

The nerve of him! Marnie did not remember agreeing to any of this: Franco approving her clothes, making her take swatches, for heaven’s sake. She hardly knew him. Marnie opened her mouth, then closed it. Franco seemed to be awfully sure of himself. And she wasn’t.

Marnie smoothed the skirt over her lap and remembered the way it made her feel as she walked across the room. Okay, so what was the harm in buying a few new clothes? She knew she was going to have to change her appearance and if she didn’t find anything she liked, no one was going to force her to buy it.

She gave Franco a sideways glance. Well, he just might. He handed her the swatch cards. “Thanks, Franco,” she said meekly.

Franco snapped his scarf case shut. “I have some errands to run, but in about half an hour, I’m going to Tony’s grocery. You can come with me, if you like, and I’ll introduce you to Tony.”

“Thanks, Franco, I would.”

Amazing how some silly scarves and an offer to go to the grocery store could improve her mood, but it did. Being with Franco was going to be fun.

Marnie went into the bedroom, strangely loathe to take off the skirt. She was standing in front of the mirror turning this way and that when she heard a crash from the balcony.

One of the plants. It had to be. She just hoped it wasn’t the whole plant stand.

The evening breeze had picked up and Marnie was chilled as she opened the French doors and stepped out onto the balcony. The giant fern had blown over. It needed a bigger pot to make it more stable, though Marnie guessed that when it was hanging, it didn’t matter.

She knelt and scooped up the dirt that had spilled out of the pot. A gust of wind swirled around the tiny balcony sending the hem of her skirt rippling way up her thighs and making her flash anyone who happened to be walking along the sidewalk—or renovating a house across the street. Marnie grabbed the skirt and the fern tipped over again.

There were tricks to wearing a skirt that she’d forgotten. She darted a quick look across the street but, thankfully, didn’t see anyone. The Bronco was there, so she knew the construction guy was around somewhere. Marnie cleaned up the dirt again and hooked the big fern around the balcony railing. It rolled from side to side a little, but that was better than tipping over.