Amy Lynn Steel was seething with anger as she finished changing into the clothes that had been provided for her by her superiors and now stared intently into the full length mirror. Never in her life had she felt so much indignation; so much contempt for a system that was obviously still male dominated.
"Heels," she scowled to herself as she looked at the black pumps she had been forced to wear. Complete with four inch stiletto heels, there was no practical application for the shoes of a Secret Service Agent assigned to protect a prominent Senator about ready to run for election. She could barely balance on them in front of the mirror, let alone chase down a potential threat to the Senator's well being. The rest of her outfit was no better with a white blouse that was interestingly a size to tight and restricted her movement, while her gray wool blazer did not have so much as a pocket to help her keep any of the paraphernalia a secret service agent was required to carry.
But aside from the heels, it was the skirt that truly angered Amy. Accustomed to wearing suit pants, Amy had never spent a day working for the Secret Service in a skirt, let alone anything this short. Even standing, the hemline of the matching gray wool skirt failed to reach the mid way point from her waistline to her knees despite numerous attempts to tug the skirt down. Amy found herself now gripping the edge of the skirt and pulling it taunt again even though it did little for her modesty. As her hands slipped over her legs however, they made a slight zipping sound on the beige nylons that had also came with the required outfit. For the first time since putting on the attire, Amy realized she could at least do something about the nylons, an article of clothing that she absolutely no loathed. While a case could be presented for the feminine look of the skirt and blouse, from afar it would make no difference if she was bare legged or wearing the hot, restrictive pantyhose Amy had always disliked. So raking her thighs with her fingernails, Amy flashed a devilish smile as the runs began to appear in the fragile nylon pantyhose.
"Whoops."
With her nylons sporting a big run, Amy removed herself from the bathroom and walked on clicking heels back to the logistics room to show her boss. Standing before him, she pointed to her ripped nylons.
"I won't be able to wear the nylons sir as I accidentally tore them while putting them on," she said unable to hide her lie with a smile.
"We kind of figured you might go through a pair or two Amy," he said sliding a new package across the folded table that he had produced from his pocket. Amy could feel her hands begin to shake as she looked down at the new package and realized she was as transparent as glass.
"I'm filing a grievance on this," Amy said in a monotone voice, doing her best to control the rage she felt inside. "How am I supposed to chase potential threats while teetering on heels as high as this, or go for my weapon in such a restrictive blouse? This seriously hampers my ability to do my job and you know it."
"Amy there is nothing to discuss. The Senator has specifically asked for you to be on this detail, but since he is about to announce his new proposal on women and infant nutrition, he wants you to look more lady-like. You could be in a news byte on tonight's news you know? Besides you know the rules, if a detail requires a certain dress code, as Secret Service agents were are obligated to honor that request."
"Bullshit, the man is a womanizer and just wants to see me in a short skirt and you know it."
"Be that as it may Amy, the Senator has insisted upon these clothes. Unless you want to spend the rest of your Secret Service career chasing counterfeiters in Prudhoe Bay, I suggest you go into the ladies room and change out those nylons."
"Yeah well you can change your fucking clothes too," she said as Amy backhanded a cup of coffee that was sitting on the table. In amazing speed, the styrofoam cup went sprawling into her bosses thighs soaking him with hot coffee as she turned on one heel and walked out of the room. Even with steaming hot coffee searing his skin, he grinned a little at Amy's fine form as it strutted in anger towards the ladies room again.
"She's a spit-fire isn't she," another secret service agent said walking over to the Detail Commander?
"Yes she is, but you know she took it better then I thought she would."
Amy was formulating the grievance letter to her superiors as she sat at the long table of the Senator situated in the Minneapolis Convention Center. Her suspicions about the true reason for her strict dress code were clearly evident by the plan described at the security briefing a half hour before. She would be four places down from the Senator at the convention center, and then accompany him in his limousine on the way back to the hotel. It was the latter part where Amy's rather revealing clothing would certainly come into play. As a few speakers took to the podium and droned on about Washington's latest ideas on how to improve women's health, Amy wondered how many times she was going to have to push the Senator's hand from off her legs while in the limousine. She was determined to count every time he did so, just to add sustenance to her letter.
At the present time however, she was just bored. It was the one aspect of being a secret service agent that the academy had not trained her for; the endless hours of monotone speeches that were so carefully worded that every one of them sounded identical to the last. The hours in the conference center would have been easier to endure if adding pain to an already insulting situation was not occurring. Unaccustomed to wearing pumps, much less ones with four inch stiletto heels to them, Amy's feet were beginning to hurt.
