"If I have to return this again," Mrs. Kranton said, clearly annoyed, "it'll be your ass!"
The woman stormed out of the store leaving the dress racks swaying in her wake. Sandra was used to dealing with the occasional irate customer, but this one was over the top. The lady had been in three times over the past few days complaining about the fit of her daughter's wedding dress. Why she didn't just bring her daughter in, she couldn't understand. But each time Mrs. Kranton came in, Sandra cheerfully took back the dress and made the requested alterations.
Three years ago, Sandra had opened the modest boutique to pursue hew of love of designing formalwear, especially wedding attire. After a couple of lean years, business was finally flourishing. The operation was still small enough that she could run it herself which suited her fine because it allowed her to maintain high quality, personalized service for her customers. She also did not have to worry about staffing and all the details and headaches that came with that.
Occasionally, like today, she couldn't help wondering what possessed her to take on so much responsibility. People like Mrs. Kranton were impossible to satisfy. Worse, at 36, she felt like a little kid being scolded for not doing her best. In her heart, though, Sandra knew she did good work and this time hoped Miss Kranton finally found the alterations acceptable.
Later that afternoon, Sandra was on the phone with one of her suppliers. She was standing with her back to the front door going through a list of office supplies tacked to the wall when the phone suddenly went dead. As she looked at the receiver she heard a voice in her ear, "I have HAD it!"
Sandra gasped, startled nearly out of her skin, and turned to see Mrs. Kranton standing right behind her with her finger on the phone. Instead of backing away, the woman moved closer until her ample bosom was pressing against Sandra's shoulder and her face was close enough that Sandra could smell her breath.
"I warned you what would happen if I came back," the woman snarled.
Sandra sighed with exasperation. "What is it now, Mrs. Kranton?"
"It's still too tight in the waist!" Mrs. Kranton's eyes bored into Sandra's and it was all Sandra could do to stand firm.
"Well, if you would just have Theresa come in I could..."
"She doesn't have time." interrupted the woman. "And neither do I! I'm not leaving here until I get some satisfaction for all these delays."
"All right," Sandra felt herself weakening, "I'll let it out a little more, again."
"No, that won't be necessary." Mrs. Kranton replied evenly. "I'm going to find someone else who is competent enough to do this simple task."
"Really?" Sandra's face lit up. "That's wonderful. Have a fabulous day then." She walked over and held the door open. "Good luck!"
Mrs. Kranton stood still. "I told you. I want some satisfaction for all the trouble you've caused."
"Well, I can't think of anything that I can..."
"When my Theresa makes a mistake," Mrs. Kranton interrupted, "I give her a sound thrashing. And that's what I intend to do to you!"
"What? You can't be serious." Sandra tried to move away, but she was blocked by the counter behind her and the stout Mrs. Kranton closing in ahead of her.
Mrs. Kranton's eyes darted around the room and replied in a matronly tone, "I am very serious. Do you have a back room here?"
"Now wait a minute." Sandra shot back as she slipped out sideways and started backing away. "You have no right to..."
Again Mrs. Kranton butted right in, "Right? Listen here, Miss. I'll tell you what I have the right to do. I have the right to not shop here ever again. I have the right to tell my daughter and her friends to shop at your competitors. I have the right to tell all my friends, whom, I might add, number a good many people in this community, to stay the hell away from here. And...I have the right to get at least a little compensation for all the time I have wasted with you." And then in a softer voice, but with a no less threatening tone, she added with a smirk, "Frankly, I have no need for money, so I am going to enjoy putting you in your place."
"Oh, God." Sandra let out meekly. What was she going to do? Mrs. Kranton was very well connected socially and if she made good on her threats it would be devastating to her business. She couldn't afford that. She looked at Miss Kranton squarely and with all the confidence she could muster, said, "All right. Follow me." She headed for the back room, but stopped and turned. "If you do this, you or your precious daughter will never step into my shop again. And you will never comment badly of your experience, since you will be, as you said, 'satisfied.'"
Miss Kranton smiled with cold eyes that made Sandra shiver. "I wouldn't have it any other way."
Racks of dresses and boxes stacked to the ceiling filled the back room. In one corner was a small desk and antique chair. Sandra pulled the chair out into a small clearing and pointed to it. "I assume you'll need this?"
"And this..." Mrs. Kranton replied pulling a large, maple hairbrush from her bag. Sandra stared wide-eyed as the stout woman sat down. Mrs. Kranton had on a long, silk skirt that covered her lap. She also wore a simple white blouse, silk as well, with a long pearl necklace that arced across her bust. Mrs. Kranton sat glaring at Sandra, her face still red with anger, tapping the hairbrush in her other palm. "Well?" she boomed.
"Oh, all right." Sandra said and stepped over to the side of the chair. She leaned over, placing her hands on Mrs. Kranton's thick thighs as she made her way across her lap. Sandra felt completely humiliated as she felt Mrs. Kranton's left hand settle on the small of her back.
Sandra wore a lavender colored, cotton pantsuit with a low cut neckline, one of her own designs. She felt the blood rush to her head as she looked back under the chair at her feet on the other side, bracing herself for the inevitable. It wasn't a long wait.
