8
"Welcome to Olive's Boutique. You must be Ms. Rousseau," smiled the young lady behind the reception desk.
Holly hesitated. She was still uncertain as to how this could be a dress shop. Located on the 39th floor of the Petersen Building, its lobby resembled that of Roberts and Elkins, P.C., the law firm across the hall. Furthermore, there wasn't a single garment on display.
"Yes, I'm Juliet Rousseau," Holly said, using the fictional name that Lewis had provided to her. "How did you know who I was?" Holly inquired casually, hoping that the question did not reveal her nervousness.
The receptionist flashed a polite smile. "Oh, we're not open to the public - we see clients by appointment only."
"Yes, of course," Holly nodded, trying to mask her unfamiliarity with the workings of such businesses.
The woman rose up from behind the desk. "Please, follow me," she said, starting down a long, curved hallway.
Holly trailed behind her, dismayed by the realization that this visit to Olive's brought her one step closer to betraying her fiancé. Since her meeting with Lewis, Holly had surrendered hope that something, or someone, would free her from his trap. And so, she had reluctantly kept the appointment that Lewis had scheduled at William's request. William, she had learned, was the name of the man she was to meet at the Lehigh Hotel next week. And he, through Lewis, asked that she wear an evening gown for their encounter.
She wondered again what type of man he was. Undoubtedly cruel, she thought. Holly shuddered at the possibility that he might be the pervert that had been with Amy that afternoon at the hotel.
"Cassandra will be with you in a moment," the receptionist said cheerily upon reaching a set of French doors at the end of the hall. Pulling them open with a flourish, she motioned for Holly to enter. "After you, Ms. Rousseau."
Holly gazed in astonishment at the large, semi-circular room lying beyond the doors. A massive, glass chandelier hung from the tall ceiling, and the walls were entirely covered with huge mirrors. A white couch, flanked on each side by dark blue chairs, was placed at the far end of the room. In front of the couch rested a large glass coffee table, supporting two large binders stuffed with papers and photographs. What appeared to be a fashion runway emerged from a large, curtained door at one end of the room and ended directly in front of the couch and chairs.
Holly heard the click of high heels on the marble floor. She turned to see a tall, voluptuous woman, probably in her early thirties, striding toward her. A tight, red business suit strained against the flare of her wide hips and plump breasts. Her hair was long, lustrous and utterly black.
"Ms. Rousseau, what a pleasure to meet you," said the woman, offering her hand to Holly. "My name is Cassandra. I'll be assisting you today." Her dark, brown eyes danced.
Holly looked at her squarely. "Call me Juliet," she replied, pleased that she was able to say the name with such confidence. It became easier with each repetition, she noted.
"Well, Juliet," Cassandra continued, the white of her smile contrasting with her olive complexion, "we are going to find you a fabulous gown for your special evening. What was the occasion again?" she probed.
"Our anniversary," Holly croaked, her throat suddenly dry. Lewis had promised her that the staff at Olive's would not know of the arrangement, but she was still apprehensive. How could she trust him when he was the instrument of what would, in effect, be a rape?
"Ah, yes, I remember now," said Cassandra. "Your husband's name is William, correct?"
Holly nodded.
"Well, he has generously supplied us with several suggestions," she continued, glancing down at a note card. "I can tell you this, Juliet," Cassandra whispered, running her eyes slowly over Holly's body. "He certainly has exquisite taste."
Holly blushed as Cassandra gently took hold of her elbow, and guided her to the couch. As Holly sunk into the soft, deep cushions, the dark curtain at the mouth of the runway whooshed open, and a petite young woman breezed onto the elevated path. A long, black evening gown clung to her small frame, and a dramatic slit in its side flashed her long, bare leg as she began to strut down the runway.
"Emily will be our model today," remarked Cassandra, watching with approval as the girl slowly turned her back to them. The gown was cut to reveal virtually all of Emily's back, with the flimsy trail of fabric resuming just above the gentle curve of her bottom. "This is Versace," Cassandra noted.
"It's beautiful," answered Holly, as Emily resumed walking toward them. Holly returned the model's smile, noticing the girl's smallish, upturned breasts jiggle with each dig of her heel into the catwalk.
"She'll show several dresses today," said Cassandra. "Decide on the one you'd like, try it on, and we'll take all of the necessary measurements. Your husband has already made the financial arrangements, so you can relax."
Emily halted her march upon reaching the end the runway. She then slightly lifted the hem of her gown, uncovering the impressively tall heels beneath.
"Oh, thank you for reminding me, Emily," Cassandra said, smiling up at her. She reached up to rest her hand on Emily's slender calf. "We'll also be selecting shoes and a clutch today."
"Wonderful," Holly said, feeling as if she were in a cloud. All of this effort, and expense, for one night? She struggled against feeling flattered, and impressed. "He's forcing himself upon you," she sternly reminded herself, "don't be fooled."
But Holly had never been in a place like Olive's before, and the experience dazzled her. She wondered if Franklin had ever treated Amy to similar such pleasures.
"Oh, how thoughtless of me," frowned Cassandra. "Would you care for a cocktail, or another beverage, while we wait for Emily to display the next gown?"
"Perhaps a glass of white wine," replied Holly, after a moment's consideration.
And as the crystal glass was handed to her, Holly permitted a little smile to warm her face.
