Drained: The Lucid (5 page)

“The one you tried on in the last store was fine,” Riley insisted. Her fingers idly touched the variety of material on the rack before her.

“If I was looking for ‘fine’ I could have settled for any of them,” Heather hummed. She lingered at a few different sections on the rack. “No, I’m looking for breathtaking.”

“Remind me why.” Riley rubbed at her shoulder as she scanned over the narrow boutique. The store was packed.  So many people within the same four walls was starting to make her skin crawl.

“It’s for James,” Heather admitted. She didn’t need to say more for Riley to understand.

Dressing up for clients, for the most part, was easy. But James was real and involved in their waking world. He chose to be with Heather, as she did with him. James’s opinion mattered; how he viewed her mattered. How he reacted to her kisses or touches intimately affected her mood, unlike the experiences in their line of work. At the end of the day, she could admit that being with him still made her stomach knot.

Although Riley didn’t have the same experience firsthand, she could relate in her own ways. Relationships were one of the recurring topics in their lives, second to none, aside from the subject of sex.

“So extra sexy it is,” Riley said.

“You got it.”

Riley’s phone buzzed in her back pocket. She paused her shopping to look at the text message.

“Amber?” Heather guessed.

Riley nodded. “She wants to see me.”

Heather pushed around the hangers on the rack. “You’ll just have to tell her you’re hanging out with your Number One girlfriend tonight. She’ll have to wait.”

“Right.” Riley laughed at the thought of relaying those exact words. “That would go over
so
well.” She typed back a quick response, promising that they’d spend time together soon.

Heather unhooked a couple of items from the rack. “Now, how about these?” She tossed one of the garments over at Riley. “That would look cute on you.”

Riley held up the lace and satin undergarment to her torso. “Pink?” She had nothing against the color, but she didn’t gravitate to it.

“Don’t question me,” Heather winked. “Try it on.”

“Yes, Mistress.” Riley playfully curtsied and bowed her head.

Rounding a corner, both women groaned when they saw the line for the dressing rooms. For a popular establishment, the store lacked the common sense to have more than a few rooms for their clientele to use. Their inefficiency irritated Heather, which Riley knew would result in her making those opinions clear to the manager later. Until then, they waited in line and Riley tried to limit Heather’s annoyance to grinding her back teeth and glaring at anyone who dared to cut in front of them. When they finally reached the front of the line, Heather was directed to a newly emptied dressing room.

Riley, with the pink sheer babydoll draped over her forearm, reflexively followed on her heels.

“Excuse me, ma’am.” A boutique employee stopped Riley with her words. “The dressing rooms are for one at a time. Another room will be available shortly.”

Heather responded before Riley could even open her mouth. “Why?”

The employee, a young co-ed who’d probably been hired because she looked good in a bra, looked startled by the question. “Oh, it’s store policy.”

Heather stood with her hands on her hips, her legs shoulder-length apart. The fabric of her few selected outfits threatened to scrape across the floor from being held so low. She was neither tall nor imposing in stature, but her presence commanded respect. It was the way she carried herself that made her tower over everyone. “Is it also store policy to make patrons wait for half an hour to try on clothing, only to make them wait for an additional half an hour in another line to purchase said items?”

Before the staff member could react, Heather grabbed Riley by the wrist and pulled her into the vacant dressing room. They both heard the worker whisper an assuming “oh” before the room’s door clicked shut behind them.

Riley hung her one item on a large hook that looked reinforced for twenty. “Was that necessary?” The dressing rooms were only suited for one person at a time, but fortunately for her, the space wasn’t too small, and the open top made it less confining.

“
You
should be the angry one, Riles. She called you
ma’am
.”

“They probably think we’re doing something scandalous in here,” Riley whispered. She smirked at the speculation.  

“I’m sure those women could use a healthy dose of voyeuristic pleasures. They’re all so …   stuffy.” Heather stripped off her clothes without reservations. She held the black lace over her body and looked at her reflection in the full-length mirror. “Maybe it’ll give you some residual energy to feed your ego.” She fanned the material out. “What do you think?”

“Not bad.” Riley followed suit and stripped off her own clothing. “Try the dark blue one,” she suggested. “I liked that.” She removed the pink babydoll from its hanger and draped the sheer material over the front of her own body. It was nice with simple, clean lines and not so many frills at the bottom hem to be childish.

“Sweetie, you look irresistible.” Heather looked the pink fabric over, her own mission briefly forgotten. “Whoever gets their hands on that will be one lucky person.”

Riley shied a smile as she pulled her clothes back on. She watched Heather drape the silky blue lingerie over her body. The material flowed like water and it looked striking against the natural tan of Heather’s skin. Between her bronzed skin tone and full head of thick, dark hair, Heather’s Indian heritage blessed her with a look that people in LA spent thousands for.

“I’m so jealous of your skin tone,” Riley admitted. “I’d have to spend an entire year in the sun to get that color.”

Heather’s smile was genuine and sweet. “You’re fine the way you are.”

“Anyway, James is gonna die when he sees you in that.” The words made Heather smile wider. If Riley had wanted to be punched, she would have also commented on the shade of red on Heather’s cheeks.

“So what’s the special occasion?” Riley leaned against one of the fitting room walls.

Heather continued to switch back and forth between the black and the blue slips, holding them in front of her torso as she inspected her figure in the dressing room mirror. “Nothing. Just James.”

“Pick the blue one, H. Trust me.”

Heather grinned and wiggled her eyebrows. “You like it that much?”

“Oh, yes. I reckon I’d hold your hand all night long,” Riley teased.

A sharp knock on the dressing room door interrupted their banter. “Are you ladies doing okay in there? Do you need different sizes?”

“We’re fine, thanks,” Riley hollered.

“This store is really pissing me off today,” Heather grumbled. “If I didn’t look so fuckable in this blue one, I might boycott this place altogether. Okay,” she said, making up her mind, “let’s pay and go back to your place.”

Riley nodded in agreement, and the two friends wrapped up their evening shopping trip as quickly as the store’s lines would allow.

• • •

Back at Riley’s apartment, with the spoils of their shopping in tow, Heather and Riley prepared for a night in, just the two of them. In their line of work and with both in their own respective relationships, free nights were rare. But every once in a while, their friendship needed personal attention. The privacy to talk freely and confide in one another without the worry of maintaining a social persona was a necessity. It wasn’t that they were fake around the other members of their group, but it was always different when two souls connected in private.

“Riles, how long have we lived in Los Angeles?”

Riley slipped out of her sandals and set them by the front door. “Nearly three years, why?”

“Then why does it look like you still haven’t moved in?” Heather wondered aloud.  

“You know I don’t have a lot of stuff.”

Riley’s apartment was sparsely decorated with few personal touches. What limited furniture there was in the living room looked untouched as if no one had ever actually sat on it. Money wasn’t an issue. Trusics provided their top agents with practically unlimited funds. If she wanted, she could have filled the two-bedroom apartment with enough knickknacks to make a hoarder blush.

“I’m gonna go try this on.” Heather backtracked into the bedroom. “For real now.”

Riley eyed her friend and nodded. “I’ll be in there soon. Gotta grab the good stuff,” she said before waggling her eyebrows.

Heather began undressing before she even reached Riley’s bedroom. If de-robing was a form of art, Heather was a master. Each garment slipped off her slender body as though made of liquid and pooled delicately on the apartment floor. Riley watched after her friend, marveling at the elegance of a woman capable of snapping necks over long waiting lines.

She shook her head and made her way quickly to the kitchen where she grabbed a bottle of moscato and a few other essential items from her refrigerator. While precariously balancing all the ingredients for a girls’ night in her arms, Riley determined she needed to invest in a basket or something. She chuckled at the imagery; it was like Red Riding Hood bringing a basket of goodies to meet the wolf.

When she made it to her bedroom, Heather was in the ensuite bathroom, the door slightly ajar. She inelegantly dropped everything onto the bed in a heap. The bottle of moscato bounced and threatened to fall off, but thankfully remained on the mattress. With her friend still in the bathroom, Riley took the opportunity to shed her clothes from the day and to slip into something more comfortable to sleep in.   

Heather walked out of the bathroom in the new lingerie, looking unsure of herself. “Are you positive this was the right choice?” She flattened the blue silk against her abdomen.

All the members of their group had impeccable taste in clothing, and Heather’s was exceptional. On the surface, her daily wardrobe consisted of blouses and tailored pants, while her work clothes were of a variety of vinyl, latex, and leather. Most of her outfits had plenty of zippers, buckles, and chains, things most people wouldn’t dare to wear in public. With Heather’s particular portfolio of clientele, she could dress in anything that pleased her. All she needed was the attitude and confidence to go along with it. And if Heather had one quality that stood out about her, it was the certainty that she had in her the ability to make marks bend to her will.

“You’re overthinking this.” Riley relaxed back into her mattress. “You could wear a burlap sack, and people would worship the ground you walk on. James especially.”

Heather turned her attention to the mirror on the back of the bathroom door, and her frown lines deepened. She always stressed about the silliest things in Riley’s opinion. The benefit of having someone love you to the point of blind devotion should be not having to worry about materialistic surfaces.

“C’mon.” Riley smirked as she pulled back the top covers invitingly. “Enough parading around in that thing. Get into bed.”

Heather shook her head at Riley’s devious smile. She peeled off the silk material and draped it on an empty dresser before disappearing into the walk-in closet. After a few minutes she re-emerged in an oversized T-shirt that reached the tops of her knees.

“That’s a good look for you,” Riley observed. “Very Eighties Popstar. All you’re missing is a side ponytail.”

Heather eyeballed her friend. “I wouldn’t tease too much, Ms. Lumberjack.”

“Hey!” Her gaze dropped to her own pajamas. “It’s comfortable!”

“If your marks could only see you now.” Heather rolled her eyes and slid into bed beside her friend. “The irresistible Riley Carter in flannel.”

“I’m showing my Texas pride,” Riley noted, slipping into the far-too familiar southern drawl.

“What is this?” Heather examined the items on the bed. “No glasses?”

“Glasses are for the weak, bottles are for the gods,” Riley deadpanned at the question. She popped the cork on the moscato and took a drink straight from the bottle as if to prove her point. They never needed anything proper on girls’ night.

“And bowls are a burden, for spoons are meant for sorbet cartons.” Heather laughed and shook her head. She sat up straighter in bed and her T-shirt slipped off one shoulder.

“And bottles of whipped cream are exclusively for mouths,” Riley agreed. Her lips twisted into a wry smile. “On second thought …” She vigorously shook the can of whipped cream, and before Heather realized what was happening, Riley had sprayed a giant dollop onto her exposed shoulder.

She gaped at the mess. “You did not just do that.”

Riley dipped her head and sucked up the light topping as quickly as it had appeared.

“Thanks for not using your tongue.” Heather wrinkled her nose.

Pale green eyes lit up. She grinned and wiped at her mouth with the back of her hand. “Any time.”

“Pervert.”

Plaid-covered legs resituated on the mattress before she grabbed the remote control. In the other hand, she held her newly discovered weapon: a bottle of whipped cream.

They browsed the new movie category for a while, but neither could agree on a film. It wasn’t too long before Riley ignored the options altogether. Her resulting decision ended up being a movie that she knew they would both watch—Cary Grant and Irene Dunne in
My Favorite Wife.
A classic romantic comedy could never be a bad choice.

As the dramatic music swelled to signal the start of the movie, the two friends wiggled closer in bed.  

“You certainly know how to throw a party,” Heather noted as she dug her spoon into the carton’s contents. “Speaking of which, do you think the wine is a good idea?” She eyed the chilled bottle propped between them.

“I’ll be fine, H,” Riley assured. “It’s a light moscato. And I’ll let you control the bottle.”

Thirty minutes into the film, the moscato had been forgotten, the sorbet and whipped cream were nearly gone, and Cary Grant had still not told his new bride that his first wife had come back from the dead. Riley picked up the remote and lowered the volume. “Do you think this is all our lives will ever be?”

Heather’s brow furrowed in confusion.