Mannequin 3

Chapter 1

She liked her office tidy. Neat. It wasn't just an office; it was a showcase. A

sanctuary

. So why the hell was there a giant crate in the middle of the room?

Pinching the bridge of her nose, she muttered to herself, "I haven't nearly had enough coffee for this.

Natalie!

"

A moment later, her assistant appeared behind her. Sensitive to her boss' moods, her doe-eyed look hinted at a rapid-onset anxiety. "Yes, Mrs. Haskins?"

She actually wondered momentarily whether the enormous invading container was just a figment of a fevered imagination. A tilt of the head to the crate was all she had the patience for. "The crate?" Natalie asked.

Dear

lord

. Natalie was a decent assistant, but quite dim. "Yes, Natalie," she said. "The crate. Why is it in my office?"

"Um," Natalie stuttered. "I don't know, Mrs. Haskins."

"Well," came the reply, "Does it

belong

here?"

Natalie looked at her like it was a trick question. She started moving her head in an up and down motion, but off Mrs. Haskins' look realized it was the wrong answer and quickly started shaking it instead.

"No?" It came as a question.

Patience... patience

... "Correct. So... what are 'we' going to do about it?"

Natalie thought about it for a moment. As if trying to figure out which light switch worked with which lamp, she finally landed on the right one. "I'll call receiving and get someone here right away."

It's a good thing you have your cuteness to fall back on,

Mrs. Haskins thought.

Otherwise, no one would be able to put up with you.

"Good idea," she responded, trying to keep the snark in her voice to a minimum. "Now, is that for me?"

Natalie looked genuinely surprised as she looked down at the coffee she held in her hands. As if seeing it for the first time, she looked startled as she handed over the cup. "Good."

Natalie waited for the next instruction, but her boss just tutted and flicked her fingers dismissively. "Shoo."

Natalie turned on her heel and practically bounced out of the office. With the door closed behind her, it was now time to turn attention to the coffee. The overly sweetened and flavored drink was coffee in name, only. Even so, she felt humanity pouring into her with each luxurious sip. Natalie may be a bit thick at times, but she would be kept around as long as she kept making coffee this delicious.

The phone rang on her desk. If she had had her preference, she would only use her cell phone, even while at work. However, having a phone (with an actual

cord

, for crying out loud!), definitely had its uses. During negotiations, she used it as a power play more often than not. Plus, it was immensely gratifying to physically slam the receiver down on the occasional insufferable idiot. Well, okay, maybe more than just "occasional."

"Hello?" she answered.

"Marjorie! Good morning!" The highly effeminate voice boomed through the earpiece.

Oh lord. "Hello, Jérome," she replied. At least let her finish three or four cups before dealing with

him

. Maybe three or four dozen.

"I just got word that you have a new pressie!" Jérome's entire demeanor was fake. He spoke in overexaggerated British- and French-isms in a cloying effort to sound sophisticated. While she had no proof, she imagined chubby, dumpy "Jeremy" in trailer-town Arkansas affecting a worldly, sexually-liberated gigolo to the fashion industry.

"You sound chipper this morning," Marjorie said. "Must have finally gotten laid this weekend."

"Marjorie, you minx!" Jérome protested with disingenuous shock. Somehow, he managed to make the final word draw out to more than one syllable. "Don't you know it, girl!"

She couldn't help but roll her eyes. No one should have to deal with Jérome first thing in the morning. "Well, it's about time," she said, trying to prevent the acerbic claws from showing. "How long has it been, Jérome?"

"About eight or nine inches," he said, and then cackled. She shook her head. The man actually

cackled

.

"Very funny," she said, unamused. If Jérome had been straight, he'd have been brought in front of HR long ago.

"Darling, I'm not funny, I'm

drole

," he tried to sound offended.

"What you are, Jérome," she said, her patience running out, "is eating into a very busy day. What do you want?"

"Oh, Margie," he said. Now he actually did sound hurt. He considered his playful banter to be the sign of an excellent salesman. The fact that she didn't want to play on those terms instantly turned him into a petulant twelve-year-old whiny brat.

"I'm sorry," she sighed, hoping to make herself sound contrite. "I haven't had my coffee yet. I didn't mean it like that."

While she

did

mean it "like that," Jérome was still one of her best vendors and he was able to get things done in ways that others didn't seem to be able to do. It wouldn't be a good idea to piss him off.

He squealed.

"But don't call me Margie," she warned.

"Okay, okay," he said, distractedly. "Anyway, I just got the shipping report. You are going to be so excited, girl, I just know it!"

"You mean this thing in my office? This is

your

doing?"

"Why, of course!" he clapped his hands together in rapid succession. Sometimes, she thought he was auditioning to be a trained seal. "We talked about this. Don't you remember?

She searched her memory, foggy as it was due to the early morning and the hangover from the previous evening. Vaguely she recalled... something.

"No," she said. "Remind me."

"Well, all right, I know it's been a while and you've had a lot on your mind," Jérome said. Marjorie instantly felt her hackles start to rise. That was a conversation she

definitely

didn't want to have this early in the morning. She might bite Natalie's head off altogether if she got any further into that mood.

"But remember that I called you and told you about these new mannequins specially designed for the

Élegance Sensuelle

line?"

Suddenly things started clicking into place. "That was six months ago," she said. "I had forgotten all about that."

"Well,

surprise!

" Jérome practically shouted into the phone.

Marjorie looked at the crate. "Jérome, it's a mannequin. Why is it in my office? I already have a dressing mannequin."

"Because, silly," he said, "It's going to replace that plastic piece of crap. This is the

real deal

!"

"A 'real deal' mannequin? That makes no sense."

"Trust me, sweetie. This isn't something you just throw out on the main floor. This is for

very

special clients."

"Jérome," Marjorie said, her patience waning with every word. "

All

my clients are special."

In almost any other circumstance, Marjorie could have been just another lingerie store owner putting on airs. In this case, though, she was merely stating a fact.

Bijou Intim

é catered exclusively to ultra-rich clientele. In order to even set foot beyond the front door, an appointment

and

a credit check were required. Her clients were referrals only. The cheapest item in the entire store was a hair clip that sold for nearly a grand.

It had its own shelf.

"Yes, yes, yes," he said, and she could envision him waving his hands dismissively in the air. "But trust me. This is for

very

special clients. We think this is going to help with the sales of the new line. In fact, we know it."

"What's so special about it?" She felt herself getting a little curious about this. Creating a special mannequin just for a lingerie line seemed indulgent, especially for his company.

"Well," he said, his voice lowering conspiratorially. "We have been trying a few things in our Creative department, and realized that the new

Sensuelle

line reacts very differently to human skin and contact and the normal mannequins just can't show it off properly. So, we developed these specifically to promote this line. Since it drops this week, we need to make sure all the looks are presented correctly."

Marjorie nodded to herself. This wasn't unusual. Designers wanted to showcase their materials in the best possible way, even going so far as paying for prime high-traffic areas.

Bijou Intim

é was boutique and exclusive, about as far away from the pedestrian

Victoria's Secret

that you could get, but was not immune to the whims of the vendor's desires.

"Okay," she relented. She didn't want it in her office, but the

Sensuelle

collection was supposed to be

Étoile de Lingerie

's most significant line yet. It's no wonder Jérome was so keen on it.

"I'm serious, Marjorie," his voice suddenly took a more deliberate turn. "This is important. We've only made a couple of these and sent them only to our most important people, like you."

She was taken aback by his sudden assertiveness. Usually, he couldn't be torn away from his affected, effeminate enthusiasm.

"All right, all right!" She said, conceding.

He clapped his hands together again, turning on a dime back to his usual, effusive personality. "Goody!" he said. Marjorie was certain she rolled her eyes back so far that she saw the back of her own skull.

Goody

?

"I'll let you know how it goes," she said.

"Trust me, you're going to

love, love, love

it!"

A few hours later, the crate had been cleaned up and out of her office. The mannequin had been removed and placed on its stand, still wrapped in protective sheeting. The entire process was curious, because mannequins typically arrived in parts and limbs that could be assembled and posed in a multitude of unnatural positions. Mix-and-match was the name of the game, but this had come out as an obviously solid, single piece.

"The

Sensuelle

samples are here, Mrs. Haskins," Natalie said, leaning into the office. If the door was open, Natalie was allowed to interrupt whatever Marjorie was doing. This was one of those rare times.

"Good," Marjorie said. "Now we can take these damn wrappings off."

There really had been no point in completely unboxing the mannequin until there was something to put on it, and

Étoile

had been very clear that nothing other than their

Sensuelle

line was to be put on. Ever. Not even their other lines. Never in her twenty years in the business had Marjorie ever seen such particularity about a stupid mannequin, of all things.

The company had done an incredible job wrapping the mannequin for transport. Instead of harsh paper or plastic, they had protected it with fine linens and silk, deep rich blue and purple in blended colors, depending upon how the light struck. The material alone would have made for phenomenal lingerie.

Marjorie looked at Natalie. "Well," she asked expectantly, raising an eyebrow. Off Natalie's confused look, she continued, "Am I supposed to do this myself?"

Natalie snapped to attention and immediately began to try to find the edges of the material with her fingers. The wrapping itself was practically a work of art, and the act of removing it was far more akin to stripping than unpacking. The last vestiges of soft fabric fell away from the mannequin and, for some reason, Marjorie was struck with a memory of the

Birth of Venus

.

"Take care of that," Marjorie said, pointing to the fabric. "We may want to use that late..."

Her voice trailed off, as she started looking at the mannequin's face.

"Oh my," she muttered, amazed.

Natalie, too, was in awe. Marjorie started wandering around the stand, trying to take stock of exactly what she was looking at.  Natalie immediately started to gather the shipping fabric so that Marjorie wouldn't walk or trip over it.

"This is incredible," she continued. "I mean, I've seen life-like faces before. Bonaveri makes some incredible ones, but this,

this

is amazing."

It was true. This was not a simple plastic mold. This was

art

.

It was only then that Marjorie started taking a look at the full form standing in front of her. Tall, statuesque, as most mannequins are, but this one had texture that had much more kinship with actual human flesh than anything she had ever seen before. There were color gradations in the tone, natural-looking flesh variation across the limbs. There was no confusing it with real skin, of course. It was very obvious that it was synthetic. It had no pores, and it was absolutely flawless. Everything that she needed in a mannequin was there, but there was something... more.

She raised a hand to touch the shoulder, and reflexively yanked it back.

"What? What?" Natalie cried, shocked at her boss' action.

"It's... I don't know," Marjorie said. "Touch it. See for yourself."

Natalie hesitantly reached out to the body, half expecting it to shock her with electricity. Instead, she lightly grazed it with her fingertips, pulled back a little, and then pressed a bit harder. "It's so soft," she said, marveling at it. "And

warm

."

Marjorie nodded. "Exactly."

She circled around to the front, and looked up at its face. At a quick glance, the mannequin might be passable for a human being, if it weren't fort for the eyes. For whatever reason,

Étoile

had decided that they were going to create reflective, silver-specked flakes in an almost surreal and psychedelic base. The effect was almost supernatural. On a body literally built to perfection, it left no doubt that it was supposed to entice and encapsulate raw human fantasy.

Even so, there was something missing. It was a mannequin, after all, and nude mannequins always had an unfinished quality.

"Let's get the samples on it," she said.

As Natalie left the room to begin preparing the

Sensuelle

samples, she began looking more closely at the mannequin's money-makers. Its breasts weren't simply formless lumps molded into basic shapes, but rather contoured into perfect horseshoe-shaped measurements that peaked into perky nipples. It even had the variety of color that a woman's breast has, from the full body skin tone into a slightly darker ring of an areola, and then finally into a pinkish nipple at the perfect, uplifted peak.

Without realizing she was doing so, she lifted her hand to the neck of the mannequin and started drawing it down its chest. She gasped. "Oh my god!" she exclaimed.

Natalie came back into the room at that moment. "What?"

Marjorie looked at Natalie, confused at first. "She, I mean it," she caught herself, "

reacts

when you touch it!"

With that, Marjorie began running her fingers down the chest again, until she had a full palm of a breast. Following where she had touched, a slight flush began to follow as well, growing subtly until the pink nipple grew into a much deeper, more erotic reddish crimson. For all the world, the mannequin looked like it had become

turned on

by Marjorie's touch.

Natalie's hand went to her mouth, and then she looked down. "Oh my god, look!" she said.

Marjorie followed Natalie's gaze and stepped back so that she could get a better look. Sure enough, the change in color hadn't just been in the chest. Indeed, there was a distinctly growing region of hue between its legs.

Natalie stepped forward and put her fingers on its stomach. "It's actually getting warmer," she reported. She brought her hand about an inch lower than the mannequin's navel. "It's even warmer there," she said. "I think... I think it's getting turned on!"

Marjorie laughed. "Don't be ridiculous, Natalie," she chastised the girl. "It's a mannequin. But I will say, whoever did this did an incredible job."

If Natalie felt disappointed in being dismissed so easily, she did not show it. Marjorie motioned for her to bring over the sample lingerie, and they both began dressing it in the new line. Once completed, they took a step back and admired their handiwork.

Now

she understood what Jérome had been going on about. The mannequin, stunning and perfect naked, absolutely rose above all expectations when the

Sensuelle

line was worn. The reaction to touch was specifically to highlight the areas of the body that would be emphasized by the light touch of the material.

It was a mesmerizing effect. What stood before them wasn't simply a statue, nor were these silly pieces of fabric thrown on as decoration. This was sensual. This was arousal manifested in pure form. It was

money

.

"Oh, wow," Natalie said. Marjorie looked over just in time to see Natalie involuntarily lick her lips. Caught, she blushed profusely.

At that moment, the salon's doorbell rang. "Saved by the bell," Marjorie said, smiling. "That must be the 2 o'clock. Get her a drink, and I'll finish cleaning up in here."

All in all,

Étoile

had sent a half-dozen looks. Once again, their stipulation was very clear. No other product line, even their own, was to be placed on the mannequin, and the

Sensuelle

line would never be promoted using any other normal mannequin. They were a matched set.

Soon enough, Marjorie's office was back to its pristine, immaculate presentation. After all, proper showcasing of lingerie was about the promise of the fantasy, not even the fantasy itself - and certainly

not

the reality. The reality of lingerie was never as glamorous as what people built up in their heads, and Marjorie made her living promoting a completely idealized world.

Showcasing a mannequin and lingerie in her office gave the impression of a "super secret" back-room mystery. Only the

truly

special clients get to join her in the inner sanctum. Of course, none of them realized that each of them were the "truly special" clients, and the outer showroom was just for, well, show. She had just managed to complete arranging the sample when Natalie knocked on the door.

While fashion was a profitable and somewhat glamorous business in comparison to other occupations, Mrs. Margrave represented everything that Marjorie hated about her line of work. Deep into her late thirties, she was an aging trophy wife who hadn't quite figured out how to divorce her incredibly rich husband who paid for everything and kept her in the lifestyle that she demanded. She likely had a stable of gigolos to keep her company during his long business trips.

Marjorie dreaded the three (or more) hours of appointment. Most of her clients like to gossip and socialize, but Mrs. Margrave took it to an entirely different level. Whenever she got a feeling that there wasn't enough drama in her life, she would torment Marjorie with incessant complaints about everything from how her new Bentley didn't cool fast enough in the summer to how the vodka tonic Natalie offered lost its fizz too fast.

Even so, she spent money with greater flow than the Niagara. It was rare that she managed to walk out of

Bijou

for less than ten grand, and usually it was at least double that. For that kind of customer, Marjorie could put up with a lot.

"Thank you, Natalie," Marjorie said as she was about to close the door. "Please get Mrs. Margrave's latest selection."

Natalie nodded, and then closed the door. "She'll be back very soon with your personalized selection," Marjorie explained, but then saw that Mrs. Margrave was completely captivated by the

Sensuelle

model.

"Is that it?" Mrs. Margrave cried, her mouth dropping open. "It's

gorgeous!

"

Marjorie was stunned. In the three years she had waited on the woman,

nothing

pleased her, especially not the first thing she saw.