Putting the Madge in Danna (10 page)

I love Jasmine’s Bridal Shop. It’s in a
small plaza that has a white picket fence around the perimeter next
to Giuseppe’s Tailoring and that cobbler who seriously looks like
Pinocchio’s father. Jasmine wasn’t there - do you believe that?
She’s almost always there. Instead, a thirty-something blonde stood
in her stocking feet by the tall T-stand near the cash register.
She took the end of the tape measure that was around her neck out
of her mouth and began to speak in broken English.

“
Ha va you?” she
said.

Since I too speak B.E., I had no problem
with it. Many people who attend our church are off-the-boaters, you
know? Broken English helps when speaking Greek too. I’m not great
at it, not Greek fluent yet, so I tend to throw in some American
words in a sort of Greeklish thingy. Greek’s hard to master.

“
Hi, there. Dannika,” I
said pointing to myself.

“
Margot,” the fragilely
thin woman replied. She was pretty in that way people who need
makeovers look breathtaking afterwards. That house frau polyester
dress with the zip front did nothing for her. “Polska.”

I assumed that meant she was from
Poland.

“
Fitting?” I asked. It was
kind of like playing that
Password
game that Mr. Zepkos loves to watch on TV
Land.

“
You bride?” she
said.

“
Yes.” I nodded yes too,
to make Margot feel confident. We walked to the back of the store.
“It’s an Alexandre gown. Last name is Elinopoulous, soon to be
Zepkos.” I couldn’t remember if we had listed it under my name or
Zeus’. Zepkos is so much easier to pronounce.

Margot looked to the front of the store.
There was no one there. If anyone came in, that little bell on the
door would have chimed. It’s not like people steal wedding
garments, or anything. That would be weird. Anyhow, it was getting
late and it hadn’t looked like Margot was expecting another
appointment. I’m sure she would have said so. Instead, she walked
over to face me and smiled shyly before averting her eyes.

“
I will find dress,”
Margot said.

She walked into the back room. I followed
the trail of the classical music playing. As I suspected, it was
emanating from a CD player behind the register. Kind of thought it
would put me in a better mood if we listened to the mix Chad Mavis
had made for me, which I happened to have in my giant hobo bag. I
mean, I’d thought I brought it, so I burrowed through, deep inside
past the cosmetic bag full of tampons I always kept there in case
of emergency, and the wallet Zeus had given me at Christmas that
only had room for two credit cards after he had filled the slots
with pictures of him and me at various stages of our bliss.

When I found the CD, I
removed
Mozart’s Greatest
and replaced it with the one of Madonna spotted
hits. I didn’t turn up the volume because that would have made me
seem a little bit of a bitch, don’t you think? I didn’t want to act
like I owned the place or anything. Margot had a Madonna look about
her so I thought she would enjoy the mix too or at least offer a
positive comment on its sound quality. I did come there for
positive comfort, after all.

I bet Margot would have looked cute in
stretch lace and rubber bangle bracelets, especially when she was
younger. She could have won a look-a-like contest. I wondered if
she had ever gone through a Madonna phase. Was Madonna popular in
Poland? It didn’t look like bracelets were Margot’s thing though,
as they would have probably interfered with the preciseness of her
alterations work if she wore them, I guessed, which is why I
suspected she didn’t wear them or any jewelry.

She was taking a while finding the gown.
Since I was in the back of the store behind the tall round rack
filled with sale gowns, it wasn’t a big deal to slip out of my
skinny jeans and designer peasant top. Wow, I looked a lot thinner
standing there in my red lace bra and matching thong. I slipped the
Candies leather mules back on my feet. I’ve been wearing this easy
on and off shoe for obvious reasons, but mainly because they are
sort of retro, harking back to the ‘80s when Madonna first got her
start. I still felt a little like a fledgling Madonna with my
newbie like-a-virgin fuck status and all.

Sometimes I wear these old
pink opera gloves that Yaya had given me a few years ago when she
was cleaning out her hope chest. She had worn them at her 1959
prom, but they look like the ones from
Material Girl
. Obviously, I only
wear them in private. I don’t want people to think I’m a fetishist.
Anyhow, I needed heels for my dress and I didn’t bring the Choos,
seeing as I hadn’t planned on coming there tonight and the Candies
were about the same heel height. You get the picture.

My gown has a built in padded bra so I
removed the one I was wearing. I didn’t want to forget to do it and
then get all stuck in the dress and accidentally get make-up on it
or something disastrous-like. I stood there in just the mules and
the red thong waiting for Margot to return with my dress and
staring at myself in the three-way mirror. My nipsey-russells felt
the cool breeze of the air conditioning and stood erect as I
positioned my arms in various Vogue poses. Good girls, I thought,
because I love the way tit-tats look when they are plumped. Margot
brought out my dress as I was doing the Coppertone ad pose, thong
down showing my tan line while my booty-boot jutted out almost past
the point of balance. I nearly fell off the podium when I noticed
her there.

“
Okay,” Margot said as she
came around the corner and placed the dress on the hook next to the
mirror. “O….” I assumed she was going to say
okay
again, but she stared at my
naked top as her mouth froze at the O, making her look like one of
those angels you made out of acetate during church school at
Christmas to place as a window cling on the glass insert of doors.
I folded my arms in front of me to contain my boobsies demurely.
Margot turned away and unzipped the cloth bag, but I could see her
sneaking a peak at me through the looking glass.

My wedding gown is really
exquisite. It is an Alexandre, a new designer out of Canada, whom
my auntie knows personally. I could hardly get the kind of dress I
really wanted, slinky sleek ivory silk that would have looked
amazing with my olive skin and have allowed my tit-tats the freedom
to nip out all day and night. The real me, all sexy-sexy, but not
for a rated G family big fat Greek you-know-what, of course.
Instead, the Alexandre gown is white chiffon, with a Schiffli lace
bodice all padded up, and with a lacing at the bust, sort of like
football player’s pants have. There’s a lot of
Swarovski
crystal trim around the
seams too. Very shim-shim-sheree. I’m wearing it to please my
mother mainly. She picked it out. My parents are spending loads of
money to see their only daughter get married. I’m like their
princess, and I want them to be proud of me. Don’t get me wrong,
bloggers. It’s very pretty. Zeus will like it.

Margot helped me into the gown like my
lady-in-waiting. She was so careful with it, the opposite of
Jasmine. I think it was because Jasmine works with dresses all the
time and knows how much the cloth can take, especially a polyester
blend. Margot, being new, acted as if someone had woven the
material of the finest Milanese silk, and her life depended on
keeping the fragile cloth safe from harm.

“
Oh, it is bu-ti-ful,” she
said. “You are most bu-ti-ful bride, Misses Eli-op-plis.

I said, “It’s Elinopoulous, Margot, soon to
be Zepkos. But call me Danna.”

“
Danna bu-ti-ful, elegant
bride,” she said. Margot was beaming, exactly the way my mother had
when I had tried it on for her.

“
Are you married?” I
asked, thinking that Margot might have a little girl hiding
somewhere that she might marry off one day. But then, I had an
inkling….

“
I don’t like-um man,” she
said.

I paused for a moment and let her comment
digest. I thought I would check for understanding before I allowed
the gears in my brain to churn up a plan. I said, “You don’t like
men? Are you gay, Margot?”

“
Gay,” she repeated. And
then, “Ya, ya, gay, I am.” Margot proceeded to pin the bodice
around my tummy. It was actually a smidgen too loose since my
fitting two weeks ago.

I said, “How do you like it? Being gay, I
mean. Do you like….” Then I kissed the top of her head. Her hair
smelled like hair, like she didn’t wash it every day, which must be
a foreign thingy. The kiss startled Margot. She jumped and the pin
she was using hit my tummy-tum-tum. Yikes, that smarted. I yipped.
Yes, I yelled, “Yip!” No blood drawn, thank God.

Margot cocked her head when she looked at
me. She was probably, like the others, wondering why I was getting
married. I thought if I tried to explain, then it would get lost in
translation. So I just stood there waiting, but not for long. She
climbed up on the podium so that we were eye to eye. Pins were in
her mouth - otherwise, I would have kissed her lips. Margot
continued the adjustments, pinning the cap sleeve a little, making
it move with me the way I wanted it before and couldn’t get Jasmine
to do.

“
We finish,” she said
firmly. She seemed proud of her work.

“
Okay,” I said. “Good. You
do very nice work.”

“
Very nice,” she repeated.
I took it as flirtation on her part.

Margot helped me out of the dress, just in
case a stray pin actually hit a vein. Blood is hard to wash out of
white, blood and cum, as I mentioned once before. She placed my
wedding gown back in the bag as I stood waiting in my sexy red
thong. I flicked my pinkie a love rub when I knew Margot wasn’t
looking. That got me nicely hot and bothered, and wet.

I said, “Do you like what you see?” Now I
pinched my girls so they could give a proper greeting. Margot
turned and faced me full on. She reached to touch them and she
reminded me of a poor little girl holding a doll in a store and
wishing she could take it home. The way I must have looked when I
was begging for that doll from FAO Schwarz. Now I was that doll,
not a baby doll, but a full-blown bride doll.

I began to wonder if
Margot would make an acceptable lesbian trophy for my Madonna
adventure. Because I needed someone to guide me, not the other way
around. Margot seemed to need me more, and there was a sadness to
that, like the cowardly lion who still feared life even after
receiving a badge for courage. Suddenly Madonna’s
Forbidden Love
song came
on. It seemed an omen, because I couldn’t understand why Chad Mavis
would have added it to a wedding reception mix tape otherwise. I
had my answer.

“
You come back Friday, and
we try dress again, okay?” Margot said. She was trying to maintain
an air of professionalism but I could see through it.

I said, “Okay, Friday. Should I bring my
Choos or just my choo-choo?”

“
I bring everything,” she
said. I wasn’t sure what that meant, but I was hopeful, because as
I moved to reach for my bra, Margot clamped her mouth around my
left nip. She nibbled it until I gasped. It felt tickly-ooh-la-la
and left righty jealous. Then she returned my dress to the back
room.

I got dressed, and
realized how ridiculously lucky I really am. You see, my friends?
Madonna guides me well – and Zeus, inadvertently, since he was the
one who told me to schedule another dress fitting. I’m not sure why
I had any moments of doubt. Maybe
I
am the lioness.

I better not fuck this up, because my only
hoo-ha to hooey experience resides in a dream. I really have no
idea what I’m doing. What is sex sans cock? I guess I’ll find out
Friday night.

Comments: 2

Whoo-hoo and what do you know? The Cretan is
a lesbo! This trumps crafting any day of the week.Ro, Miami, FL

I think I love you with all my heart.
Scratch that with your lioness claws. I do love you.Rob, NY, NY

****

Bad Girl

Saturday, August 8, 2009 – noon

I woke up in someone else’s bed this
morning. It was disorienting to say the least. I’m pretty sure it
will take me all day to recover from this hangover. Zeus called
again, wouldn’t you know it? And I wasn’t home, and I feel a panic
attack coming on thinking I have no way to explain my absence, and
I’m only half-way to my six fucks. He can’t find out!

I’ve had only one other
panic attack in my life. It was the day I had graduated from high
school, and I thought I’d lost the speech I’d written. My peers had
elected me to speak at the ceremony – cheer more like, I think, due
to the response I’d gotten at that pep rally when I’d performed the
new cheers I’d invented for the all-county winning basketball team.
I had the whole thing memorized – I didn’t need that stupid folded
up paper, but I had just wanted it as a crutch. I’d wanted to stare
at my heart dotted
I
s and the rest of my handwriting, for comfort.

Yaya had found it in the
refrigerator about two minutes before we were set to leave
for
Proctor’s Theatre
. I must have thrown it in there when I was getting myself a
glass of orange juice. The panic had been averted but that feeling
of slowly dying from a heart attack as you can’t catch your breath
is simply mortifying – it’s happening now and it’s much worse than
the way I felt before offering my words of wisdom to my peers. I
don’t get why public speaking is the number one scariest thing on
people’s list of scariest things, by the way. It’s not a big deal.
I could do it all day – but I cannot lie to Zeus.