Growing into the Job, Post 541: Retail Therapy, p15

Hi. This is Lakshmi. I want to tell the story for a little bit. 

The checkout line was short, and the lighting inside Hera’s had warmed toward a sunset hue - a low amber glow, carefully designed to flatter the skin, to make beauty feel like something ambient. The woman behind the register was beaming at me as she folded my new clothes into a silver-embossed bag. He was holding onto me, not by my hand, this time, or my wrist, but by my waistband.

It had started when I had to let go of his hand to pull out my payment - Josie had insisted I get the swimsuit, some jewelry she thought looked good on me, and a real outfit, something to change into so we could all look ‘cool’ for the show. She told me scrubs were not ‘cool’. She knew more about this than me so I had taken her suggestions. The jeans - I was wearing them now, and had put my ‘uncool’ scrubs in a bag - were light, faded, nearly painted on. They hugged every inch of my hips and thighs with a tightness that made my lower body even more of a spectacle. My new top was long-sleeved and lacey, cream with scalloped cuffs and just sheer enough to hint at the bra beneath. It exposed a sliver of my midriff. Not something I ever would have chosen for myself, but…I liked it.

And he did too, I think. He had not said anything. But he had blushed the moment I stepped out of the fitting room, eyes immediately falling to my hips. When we walked toward the checkout counter, he had clung to my hand like he did not want to let go. He was taking to his new rules well. 

So when I did have to let go - to pull out my card, to sign the receipt - I put his hand on the waistband of my jeans instead. I did not say anything. He just took it. His little fingers curled into the denim without hesitation. Right above my hip bone. He held on tight. It felt natural, it felt normal. It filled me with something: warmth, satisfaction, and yes - power. Not the hard kind. Not just dominance, not just control. Something quieter. Something that made my spine lengthen, my shoulders pull back.

He trusted me. He needed me. This man, who had once been my boss, who had signed my timesheets and corrected my vitals charts and always, always walked with such confidence. Now he was here, silent and small, holding onto me like a child clinging to his mother’s coat in a crowded market.

And he felt safe. Because he was with me.

"You're very lucky," the sales clerk said, smiling down at him from behind the counter. She wasn’t young - mid forties maybe - but showing off her figure like most women seemed to want to do these days. She had big hair, bigger eyes, and an even bigger chest.

Dr. J looked up, confused.

The clerk nodded toward me, still smiling. “To have her to hold onto.”

He flushed. Said nothing. But he did not let go.

“I think we are lucky to have each other,” I said, evenly.

“Aww,” she laughed, folding the receipt into the bag. “That’s sweet. Not all men are brave enough to hold on close like that.”

“Maybe they will be,” I replied, instinctively, almost before I knew what I was saying, “when we give them a reason.”

The clerk glanced down again - this time at where his hand was still resting, fingers half-tucked into the waistband just above the round of my hip. She raised an eyebrow, approving.

“Are you two going to the fashion show?” the saleslady asked, and when I answered yes she told me the time and that we had better hurry. I was not too worried: Josie and Aubrey had gone up earlier to get us a good spot. But still - I did not want us to be late.  

We finished the sale, and I took the bag in one hand. With my other hand I embraced his far shoulder, and gently hugged him to me. I felt him lean in, just slightly, his shoulder brushing my upper thigh near the hip. 

I felt proud. He was coming around. Not just to us, but to the shape of this new world, and to the new roles it invited us to play. And I would help him get there. We all would. Quietly. Firmly. Lovingly. One step at a time.

I glanced at my phone. We were running a bit late. Josie and Aubrey had texted to say they were able to get a good spot near the stage on the upper concourse, sending updates about the setup, the lights, the crowd gathering to see the fashion show. I was excited to see Shanette. Her mother was a buyer for Hera’s and Shanette had been asked not only to be one of the models to walk the runway but actually sing, perform a song. I did not want to miss any of it. That left me and Dr. J to hustle - and hustling was haha not something he excelled at lately.

We stepped onto the escalator inside the store, to get us to the second level, and I let him stand behind me without holding my waistband or my hand. I put my hand in my hair and then… I felt his eyes.

He was staring.

I smiled to myself and said nothing.

The jeans Josie had picked for me were snug. Extremely snug. I know finding clothes off the rack that fit might be hard for girls built like I am now, and these were admirably trying. I could feel the seams pulling a little, though, with every step. They made my hips feel immense, like a presence of their own. I had never been one to flaunt any part of my body before - I generally chose to dress modestly - but these…these were not modest jeans. They were built to draw attention - as was my body, now. And judging by the heat of his gaze boring into my backside, they were both doing their job.

At the top of the escalator, behind me, he stumbled a little as he stepped off. His legs were clearly tired. He’d been through a lot today, and even just navigating the mall and the department store was draining for him now.

I turned, tilted my head, and offered my arm. “Come here.”

“What?”

Without giving him the chance to resist, I reached down, curled my arms around his middle, and lifted. 

He let out a startled, strangled yelp - one I thought I had heard before. 

I was surprised by how light he felt. I lifted weights much heavier than him at the gym. “You cannot walk the whole way,” I told him, adjusting his weight first onto my hip. “This is easier.”

“I’m n-not- ! I mean, I can s-still-!”

“Or,” I interrupted calmly, “since you are tired, we can go borrow a stroller. Or one of those adorable little carts shaped like a race car. They have them in guest services. With seatbelts.”

That made him go still. I half-expected him to argue that ‘he was not that tired’. But then, with a tiny sigh as he considered his options, he wrapped his arms around my shoulders.

“I thought so,” I said, smiling. “But here, let us do it this way. Piggyback.”

I shifted him around, until he was resting right where I’d meant him to be - low against my back, his weight spread comfortably onto the shelf of my rear, arms on my shoulders, legs around my waist. I glanced at him over my shoulder with a smile and we set off again. My jeans stretched with every step, each movement sending a ripple through my hips. His body bounced slightly with my stride, cheek to cheek. From him I heard no protest, not a complaint. He was just a warm little presence, back there, snug against me.

I didn’t even need to hold him at all as he was in no danger of slipping, not even close. I walked forward with growing confidence, out of Hera’s, through the bright corridor of the upper concourse, past storefronts filled with towering mannequins and glowing signage. Heads turned - of course they did. Not just because of him, but because of me, and us together. 

The attention was different now. When I first started developing, I used to shrink beneath it - at the grocery store, on the street, even at the clinic. But now there was an energy to it, a power. Men looked at me with awe, women looked with envy. A few even smiled the kind of secret, knowing smiles that said: yes, I understand. You’re changing. Growing. 

My nipples tingled under the lace of my new top, a faint hardness brushing my bra that made me acutely aware of how tightly the fabric clung. Another electric tingle ran down my spine. I adjusted my gait just slightly -  a little more sway in my step - and felt him rock gently again behind me.

“How is my little fanny pack doing back there?” I asked, glancing over my shoulder.

He groaned into my back. I bit my lip to stifle a laugh.

We passed a long row of backlit posters mounted to the glass divider walls - bold typefaces, modern fonts, dramatic images of women in dresses or tailored suits that looked like armor.

 THE AGE OF THE HOURGLASS IS HERE

THE FUTURE STANDS TALL

Some with slogans I recognized from the rally Josie and her mom had taken me to: 

THE WORLD WILL BE SHAPED BY HER HANDS

THE ROAD TO VICTORY HAS CURVES

And of course, one which reminded me we had to hurry - I would die if I missed Shanette’s song -

RISE IN HER NAME

I looked at them, the images and slogans, and they did not seem radical any more. They seemed… honest. Natural. And they all, strangely, made me think of Melissa. I think he was reading them too, because as he was holding onto me and we walked past each, he clung to me a little tighter. He needed me - and I was carrying him forward.

Like we were all meant to.